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(     C     C     I 


HEROINES 


-OF- 


— BY — 


JOHN  S.  JENKINS. 


BEAUTIFULLY  ILLUSTRATED. 


"Thou  hast  a  charmed  cup,  O  Fame! 

A  draught  that  mantles  high, 

And  seems  to  lift  this  earthly  frame 

Above  mortality." 

—Mrs.  Hemans. 


L.  P.  MILLER  &  CO., 

CHICAGO,  ILL.,  PHILADELPHIA,  PA.,  STOCKTON,  CAL. 

1889. 


•  V  •  ••     •   •• 

•  «  c      •        •     e 


•      a 


•   •  • 


•      c  •  *     ^  ft        • 

<     *  eg  o       •  • 

'*»oft  so* 


D  I  0^1 


•    •  •  •   «    • 


E 


th  /^.  ^'  ^iJ^ujt^ 


COPYRIGHTED  BY 
l^.   V.    MiLLKK  &  Co. 

iS88. 


HOROINES 


OF 


HISXORV. 


coisra^KiT^s, 


L 

PAGB. 

Cleopatra •  11 

n. 

Isabella  ok  Castile.  . .   •   •  - 53 

ni. 

Joan  of  Arc , •  •  •  •  •  139 

IV. 
Marla.  Theresa, ........  188 

V. 
Josephine ^1 

VL 
Elizabeth  of  England 369 

VTI. 
Mary  of  Scotland 325 

vin. 

Catherine  of  Russia 398 

IX. 

Marie  Antoinette 445 

X. 

Madame  Roland 473 


iv!98198 


TO 

8.  SHELDON  NORTON,  ESQ. 


My  Dear  Norton  : — 

I  do  not  inscribe  this  volume  to  you,  merely  because  of  the 
long  and  uninterrupted  personal  friendship  existing  between  us, — 
though  I  would  fain  have  you  regard  it  as  a  memorial  of  the  in- 
timacy which  that  friendship  has  sweetened  and  hallowed.  I 
find  other  motives  to  influence  me,  in  our  mutual  admiration  of 
female  heroism,  and  in  the  interest  with  which,  in  common  with 
myself,  you  have  traced  out  the  varied  fortunes,  and  studied  the 
characters  of  the  "  Heroines  op  History,"  whose  lives  I  have 
attempted  to  sketch  in  the  following  pages. 

They  were  not  perfect  women, — and  where  did  such  ever 
exist,  unless  in  the  dreamy  conceptions,  half  poetic,  half  philo- 
sophic, of  the  pure  and  simple-minded,  though  almost  too  un- 
worldly, bard  of  Rydal  Mount  ?  I  have  not  considered  them  as 
examples  of  female  excellence,  without  spot  or  blemish ;  nor 
have  I  represented  them  in  that  light.  They  were  famc/m 
women,  and  so  lifted  "above  mortality," — and  as  such  I  have 
endeavored  to  portray  them. 


»  ) 


Cleoptri 


/tor  Cleopatra  o  Egypto  fol  vencido. 


MASOARBNaA*. 


Whatever  might  hare  been  the  character  of  the 
person  occupying  the  throne  of  the  Ptolemies,  during 
the  time  of  the  Caesars  and  the  Triumvirate,  it  may 
well  be  doubted,  whether  the  independence  of  Egypt, 
under  any  other  circumstances  than  those  which  at- 
tended the  complete  subjection  of  that  kingdom  to  the 
Roman  sway,  could  have  been  longer  maintained  in 
opposition  to  the  colossal  power  whose  victorious 
standards  were  planted  on  the  rocky  shores  of  the  At- 
lantic, or  fanned  by  the  soft  breezes  of  the  Orient ; 
and,  perhaps,  it  was  rather  the  misfortune  than  the 
fault,  of  the  fair,  but  frail,  descendant  of  a  long  line  of 
illustrious  princes,  that  she  was  the  last  of  her  dynasty 
and  race  who  ruled  in  the  home  of  her  ancestors. 
jSTay, — is  it  not  certain,  that  the  charms  which  captiva- 
ted Csesar  and  enthralled  the  heart  of  Antony,  though 
powerless  to  save  her  country  from  the  doom  that 
awaited  it,  put  far  off  the  evil  day  of  its  undoing? 
The  Egyptian  kings  had  long  been  the  mere  allies  of 


12  CLEOPATRA. 


Eqme  ;  and  ^si'cli  :9'assalage  was  almost  sure  to  be  the 
precursor  of  eticire,  sabjugation. 
^\  I  ,' Yet.it'is' f?)r,  th;e  yerj  reason  offered  by  the  Portu- 
,'  '\  gTiepQ'  ptJB'c  ill  ;bei  conclcmnation — that  for,  or  on  ac- 
count of  her,  Egypt  was  vanquished — that  the  name 
of  Cleopatra  is  so  famous  in  history.  The  poet  who 
has  dwelt  with  delight  on  her  charms  and  her  fbllies, 
and  the  historian  whose  periods  have  grown  eloquent 
as  he  depicted  her  graces  and  lamented  the  weakness 
with  which  they  were  allied,  have  referred  to  them 
more  as  the  causes  which  produced  the  downfall  of 
the  Egyptian  monarchy,  than  as  the  effects  of  that  na- 
tional degeneracy  which  preceded  it.  As  the  beauty 
and  the  shame  of  Helen  are  first  in  the  thought  of  the 
traveller  who  pauses  beside  the  yellow  waters  of  the 
Scamander,  a*nd  looks  around  him,  but  in  vain,  for  the 
memorials  of  ancient  Ilium  ;  so  he  who  gazes  on  the 
humble  promontory  that  breaks  the  waters  of  the  Io- 
nian sea,  forgets  that  the  crescent  of  the  Moslem  is  re- 
flected in  the  blue  waves  that  sparkle  beneath  it — 
Time  rolls  back  the  events  which  she  has  numbered 
— the  proud  galleys  of  Egypt's  queen  and  her  doating 
lover  pass  in  review  before  him — and  he  remembers 
only,  that  here 

"was  lost 
A  world  for  woman,  lovely,  harmless  thing  1" 

But  the  story  of  the  false  bride  of  Menelaiis  is  all  a 
fable ;  and  thus,  too,  may  it  be  said,  that  historic  truth 
does  not  warrant  the  conclusion,  that  Egypt  was  over- 
thrown, for  the  sake  of  Cleopatra.     It  is  enough  that 


CLEOPATRA.  18 


she  presided,  as  it  were,  over  the  catastrophe  which 
she  could  not  avert,  to  invest  it  with  the  attractions 
of  Romance.  The  seeds  of  dissolution  were  not,  in 
fact,  planted  by  her  hand, — she  but  neglected  to  check 
their  growth.  Under  her  auspices,  the  last  days  of 
the  monarchy  were  spent  in  the  soft  dalliance  of  love, 
in  excess  and  voluptuousness,  instead  of  the  misery 
and  confusion  of  a  hopeless  and  protracted  warfare. 
One  after  another  of  the  Roman  generals  who  designed 
to  wrest  from  her  the  kingdom  she  had  inherited,  was 
made  captive  by  her  beauty,  and  in  her  embraces  for- 
got the  "  high  ambition"  which  had  before  been  his 
mistress  ;  and  it  was  only  when  that  beauty  had  faded, 
and  could  no  longer  ensnare,  that  the  Egypt  whose 
glory  and  splendor  had  once  been  unrivalled,  was 
humbled  in  the  dust.  The  beauty  and  the  love  of 
Cleopatra  had  preserved  for  a  season,  but  they  did  not 
secure,  the  independence  of  her  country ;  and  the 
same  hour  that  witnessed  the  overthrow  of  the  one, 
beheld  the  failure  of  the  other. 

Cleopatra  was  born  about  the  year  68,  B.  C.  Her 
father,  Ptolemy  Auletes,  had  ascended  the  throne  of 
Egypt  under  the  patronage  of  the  Roman  Senate  ;  his 
predecessor,  Alexander  Ptolemy  III.,  having  be- 
queathed his  kingdom  to  the  Romans,  although,  as  he 
had  been  banished  by  his  subjects,  it  was  a  matter  of 
some  doubt,  whether  he  was  capable  of  making  such 
a  disposition  of  his  crown.  Auletes  was  a  shrewd  and 
politic  prince.  With  the  sum  of  six  thousand  talents 
he  purchased  the  favor  and  friendship  of  Julius  Caesar 


14  CLEOPATRA. 


and  Pompey,  and  through  their  influence  secured  the 
alliance  of  Eome.  His  people,  indignant  at  his  con- 
duct, revolted  from  his  authority  and  drove  him  into 
exile  ;  but  they  were  compelled  again  to  receive  and 
recognize  him  as  their  king,  by  the  presence  of  a  Eo- 
man  army.  Subsequent  to  this  re-establishment  of  his 
power,  the  peace  of  the  realm  was  not  disturbed  ;  and 
until  his  death,  he  continued  in  the  uninterrupted  pos- 
session of  his  kingdom. 

Auletes  had  two  sons  and  three  daughters.  But 
two  of  his  daughters  survived  him  :  the  eldest,  whose 
name  was  Berenice,  was  put  to  death  by  her  father, 
because  she  had  worn  the  crown,  and  assumed  the 
royal  authority,  during  his  exile.  By  his  will,  there- 
fore, he  left  the  government  of  Egypt  to  his  eldest  son 
and  his  second  daughter, — the  latter  being  the  re- 
nowned Cleopatra.  He  also  directed,  in  accordance 
with  the  usage  of  the  Alexandrian  court,  that  they 
should  marry  together  and  reign  jointly.  As  both 
were  minors,  they  were  placed  under  the  guardianship 
of  the  Eoman  Senate,  by  whom  Pompey  was  selected 
to  fulfil  the  duties  of  the  office. 

At  the  time  of  her  father's  death,  Cleopatra  had 
nearly  reached  her  seventeenth  year — that  season  of 
poetry  and  love.  She  stood  just  upon  the  threshold 
of  womanhood, — the  faultless  outhnes  of  the  girl  want- 
ing but  the  filling  up  to  perfect  a  form  unmatched 
among  Egyptian  maidens  for  symmetry  and  grace. 
She  was  tall  of  stature,  and  queenly  in  gait  and  ap- 
pearance. Her  features  were  regular,  and  every  limb 
finely  moulded,  though  yet  lacking  the  round  and  vo- 


CLEOPATRA.  15 


luptuous  fullness  of  her  ripened  beauty.  The  warm 
sun  of  that  southern  clime  had  tinged  her  cheek  with 
a  hue  of  brown,  but  her  complexion  was  clear  and 
pure  as  the  serene  sky  that  smiled  above  her  head,  am 
distinctly  traced  beneath  it,  were  the  delicate  veint 
filled  with  the  rich  blood  that  danced  so  wildly,  when 
inflamed  with  hate,  or  heated  with  desire. 

Her  eyes  and  hair  were  like  jet,  and  glossy  as  the 
raven's  plume.  The  former  were  large,  and,  as  was 
characteristic  of  her  race,  apparently  half  shut  and 
slightly  turned  up  at  the  outer  angles,  thus  adding  a 
great  deal  to  the  naturally  arch  expression  of  her 
countenance ;  but  they  were  full,  too,  of  brilliancy 
and  fire.  Her  silken  ringlets  fell  in  long  flowing 
masses  down  the  stately  neck,  and  over  the  snowy 
throat,  and  the  polished  shoulders,  and  the  wavy 
bosom  where  Love  delighted  to  make  his  pillow. 
Both  nose  and  chin  were  small,  but  fashioned  as  with 
all  the  nicety  of  the  sculptor's  art;  and  her  pearly 
teeth  nestled  lovingly  between  the  coral  lips  whose 
kisses  were  sweet  as  honey  from  the  hives  of  Hybla. 

But  her  beauty  was  not  all  mere  comeliness  of  form 
and  feature.  To  the  witchery  of  Venus  she  added 
something  of  the  dignity  of  Juno.  Beside  the  personal 
charms  that  might  arouse  the  slumbering  passions  of 
an  anchorite,  she  possessed  the  most  exquisite  mental 
gifts.  Her  countenance  was  expressive,  and  her  dark 
Bparkhng  eyes  beamed  with  intelligence.  With  a 
fondness  for  philosophy,  she  united  a  love  of  letters  as 
rare  as  it  was  attractive ;  and  in  the  companionship 
of  scholars  and  poets,  her  mind  expanded  as  she  added 


16  CLEOPATRA. 


to  its  priceless  stores  of  wealth.  She  was  not  only 
familiar  with  the  heroic  tales  and  traditions,  with  the 
poetic  myths  and  chronicles,  and  the  religious  legends 
cf  ancient  Chemia;  but  she  was  well  versed,  too,  in 
the  literature  and  science  of  Phoenicia  and  Chaldsea, 
of  Greece  and  Eome.  Of  both  the  Grreek  and  tho 
Latin  tongue  she  was  a  complete  mistress,  and  with 
the  swarthy  Ethiop  and  the  fierce  Bedawi  of  the  des- 
ert, with  the  Jew,  the  Syrian,  the  Mede,  and  the  Per- 
sian, she  could  converse  without  an  interpreter.  De- 
lighting, as  she  indeed  did,  in  the  love-songs  of  Anac- 
reon,  she  often  turned  with  interest  to  the  dark  vol- 
umes of  papyrus  containing  the  historic  fragments  of 
Manetho  and  Eratosthenes.  Much  as  she  admired 
Homer  and  Pindar,  they  were  not  more  her  favor- 
ites than  Euclid  or  Archimedes,  than  Anaxagoras  or 
Aristotle ;  and  Apollonius  of  Perga  occupied  as  high 
a  place  in  her  regard,  as  his  namesake,  the  Ehodian. 
She  was  skilled,  also,  in  metallurgy  and  chemistry ; 
and  a  proficient  in  astronomy,  and  the  other  sciences 
cultivated  in  the  age  in  which  she  lived. 

In  the  lighter  accomplishments,  she  was  not  de- 
ficient. She  possessed  a  fine  taste,  which  had  been 
highly  cultivated.  The  female  graces  for  which  Mile- 
tus was  so  widely  famed,  beautified  and  adorned  her 
character.  Her  skill  in  music  found  none  to  equal  it. 
Hei  voice  itself  was  perfect  melody,  and  when 
breathed  through  the  soft  tibia,  fell  upon  the  listening 
ear  with  a  magic  power,  and  bathed 

"  The  drooping  spirits  in  delight 
Beyond  the  bliss  of  dreams." 


CLEOPATRA.  17 


Touclied  by  her  fingers,  tlie  cithern  seemed  instinct 
with  life,  and  from  its  strings  there  rolled  a  gushing 
flood  of  glorious  symphonies.  She  was  eloquent  and 
imaginative,  witty  and  animated.  Her  conversation, 
therefore,  was  charming  ;  and  if  she  exhibited  caprice, 
which  she  sometimes  did,  it  was  forgotten  in  the  in- 
imitable  grace  of  her  manner. 

Had  she  not  been  fond  of  pleasure,  she  would  have 
constituted  an  exception  to  the  times.  Yet  she  was 
no  Sybarite ;  but,  like  Aspasia, — or,  to  find  her  par- 
allel in  a  later  age,  like  Margaret  of  Valois, — she  loved 
to  mingle  the  intellectual  with  the  sensual.  There 
had  been  a  reaction  in  the  social  condition  of  the 
Egvptian  people — the  sacerdotal  power  was  dimin- 
ished— the  influence  of  their  strange  religion  was 
weakened — the  prejudice  of  caste  was  not  felt  to  the 
same  extent  as  formerly — refinement  had  taken  the 
place  of  austerity,  and  licentiousness  that  of  gloomy 
formalism.  This  change  commenced  with  her  father's 
reign,  and  her  character  was  formed  by  the  circum- 
stances that  surrounded  her. 

Her  vices  were  those  of  the  age : — her  virtues,  few 
though  they  may  have  been,  were  cherished  in  spite 
of  it.  She  was  superstitious, — but  Superstition  was 
then  Religion.  She  was  cruel, — but  cruelty  was  the 
besetting  sin  of  nations  and  individuals.  She  was  sel 
fish : — whv  should  she  not  have  been  selfish,  with  ene- 
mies  plotting  and  conspiring  against  her  at  her  father's 
court,  and  seeking  in  every  way  to  compass  her  de- 
struction ?  She  was  ambitious, — but  when  were  the 
eons  or  daughters  of  kings  and  princes  without  am- 
2 


18  CLEOPATRA. 


bition?  She  possessed  strong  and  ardent  passions, 
which  she  rarely  attempted  to  control, — but  they  weie 
the  only  feelings  she  was  at  liberty  to  gratily  •  she 
(vas  formed  to  love,  and  be  loved  in  return,  but  both 
the  law  and  her  religion  forbade  the  indulgence  of  an 
honest  affection. 

Such  was  the  youthful  queen  of  Egypt  when  she 
ascended  the  throne  of  her  father,  not  as  sole  mistress, 
but  enjoying  a  divided  empire,  and  coupled,  too,  with 
a  condition, — that  of  her  marriage  with  her  brother, 
who  was  still  younger  than  herself, — from  which  she 
revolted,  less  from  principle,  indeed,  than  for  the  rea- 
son that  its  fulfilment  was  abhorrent  to  her  inclina- 
tions. A  mutual  dislike  seems  to  have  been  early 
formed  between  them  ;  and  the  flame  was  industri- 
ously fanned  by  the  designing  counsellors  and  favor- 
ites of  young  Ptolemy.  Not  less  ambitious  than  his 
sister  and  wife,  but  her  inferior  in  talents,  in  accom- 
plishments, and  in  every  attribute  necessary  to  main- 
tain the  dignity  appropriate  to  his  position,  he  was 
but  the  tool  and  creature  of  abler  and  more  designing 
men. 

The  strong  aversion  conceived  for  each  other  by  the 
royal  pair  was  soon  changed  to  the  most  rancorous 
hate.  The  Egyptian  people  were  by  no  means  favor- 
able to  the  rule  of  a  female  sovereign,  and  this  na- 
tional i^rejudice  contributed  a  great  deal  to  strengthen 
the  influence  of  the  king's  advisers.  While  the  joint 
power  remained  in  the  hands  of  Cleopatra,  they  could 
do  nothing, — she  was  too  intelligent  to  be  a  dupe,  too 
ambitious  to  acknowledge  a  superior, — and,  therefore, 


CLEOPATRA.  19 


it  became  their  aim  and  object  to  deprive  her  of  her 
share  in  the  sovereignty.  Their  plans,  for  the  time, 
were  successful.  Acting  under  the  advice  of  Photi- 
nus,  his  tutor,  of  Achillas,  the  general  of  his  army, 
and  Theodotus,  the  rhetorician,  Ptolemy  refused  to 
allow  her  to  participate  in  the  administration  of  the 
government. 

It  was  not  in  the  nature  of  Cleopatra  to  submit  to 
so  gTeat  an  indignity.  She  claimed  her  rights,  with  a 
boldness  and  spirit  which,  among  any  other  people, 
would  have  aroused  a  general  and  irrepressible  feeling 
of  enthusiasm  in  her  favor ;  but  the  prejudices  of  the 
populace  were  stimulated  and  aroused  by  the  artful 
ministers,  and  they,  too,  joined  in  the  cry  against  her. 
Too  proud  to  compromise  her  dignity,  by  a  surrender 
of  her  authority,  she  was  nevertheless  forced  to  yield 
to  the  tide  of  popular  fury.  But  the  heroic  heart  that 
beat  in  her  bosom  was  unsubdued.  Obliged  to  fly 
from  Egypt,  she  hastened  to  Palestine  and  Syria,  to 
collect  an  army  that  might  enable  her  to  recover  the 
heritage  of  which  she  had  been  deprived. 

Just  at  this  juncture,  the  fate  of  Rome  and  of  the 
world  was  decided  on  the  plains  of  Pharsalia.  Pom- 
pey  fled  to  Egypt,  but  was  treacherously  murdered  by 
the  cruel  Ptolemy  and  his  ministers.  The  victorious 
Caesar  followed  close  upon  his  track,  with  an  army  too 
small  for  conquest,  but  having  in  its  leader  a  host. 
3e  was  then  at  the  zea  th  of  his  power,  and  bra^e 
men  trembled  when  his  name  was  uttered.  The  mur- 
der of  his  grefit  enem  y  did  not  secure  his  friendshij), 
as  the  counsellors   of   Ptokmy  had   anticipated :    ho 


20  CLEOPATRA. 


treated  them  with  coldness,  and  demanded  the  prompt 
payment  of  a  sum  of  money  due  him  from  Auletes. 

Anarchy  now  reigned  in  Egypt.  Altercations  and 
disputes  between  the  respective  adherents  of  Cleopatra 
and  her  brother  were  of  daily  occurrence.  Assassina- 
tions were  frequent ;  violence  usurped  the  place  of 
justice ;  and  crime  went  unpunished.  While  this 
state  of  things  existed,  Csesar  could  not  expect  that 
his  claim  would  be  satisfied ;  for  the  turbulent  state 
of  the  country  afforded  abundant  excuses,  or  pretences, 
for  postponing  its  consideration,  or  evading  it  alto- 
gether. Accordingly,  it  was  his  policy  to  promote  the 
early  restoration  of  order  and  quiet,  and  to  that  end 
he  proposed,  as  the  representative  of  the  Roman  Sen- 
ate and  nation,  to  hear  and  determine  the  dispute  be- 
tween Cleopatra  and  her  brother. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  fair  refugee  had  nearly  com- 
pleted her  preparations,  and  was  about  to  return  to 
Egypt  to  maintain  her  right  to  the  throne  by  force  of 
arms.  Having  received  the  summons  of  Caesar  to  ap- 
point some  person  to  plead  her  cause  before  him,  she 
determined  to  obey  it,  but  to  be  her  own  advocate ; 
and  fearing  that  the  arbiter  might  be  prejudiced 
against  her  by  Ptolemy  and  his  ministers,  she  re- 
solved to  seek  a  private  interview  with  him,  without 
delay. 

Lest  her  approach  should  be  suspected,  and  means 
be  taken  to  prevent  any  communication  with  the  Ro- 
man general,  she  sailed  from  Syria  in  a  frail  skiff,  at- 
tended but  by  a  single  friend,  Apollodorus,  a  Sicilian 
Greek.     Caesar  himself  had  not  dared  to  venture  out 


CLEOPATRA.  21 


to  sea,  on  account  of  the  prevalence  of  the  fierce  "Ete- 
sian winds;  but  nothing  daunted  her  buoyant  soul. 
It  was  a  high  stake  in  peril — her  crown  and  kingdom 
— everything  to  her.  Each  moment  was  pregnant 
with  danger,  and  the  dark  waters  of  the  Mediterranean 
frowned  gloomily  upon  her ;  yet  she  knew  not  what 
it  was  to  fear,  for  wind  and  wave  seemed  but  to  throb 
in  unison  with  the  wild,  fierce  passions  that  sustainec 
her. 

Arrived  off  the  harbor  of  Alexandria,  she  found 
that  it  would  be  impossible  to  effect  a  landing  in  safe- 
ty, and  to  avoid  the  spies  and  elude  the  vigilance  of 
Photinus  and  Achillas,  except  by  stratagem.  Her 
woman's  wit  and  cunning  now  served  her  well.  Hav- 
ing procured  some  cloths  and  other  fabrics,  such  as 
were  brought  for  sale  by  foreign  merchants,  she  spread 
them  out,  and  laid  herself  at  full  length  upon  them. 
Following  her  directions,  her  faithful  attendant  Apol- 
lodorus  wound  them  about  her  person,  and  then  tied 
the  bundle  with  a  thong  in  the  same  manner  as  pack- 
ages of  goods  were  secured. 

Thus  hidden  from  all  stranger  eyes,  she  was  con- 
veyed in  the  dusk  of  evening  to  the  quarters  of  the 
Roman  commander;  her  companion  sustaining,  for 
the  nonce,  the  character  of  a  merchant,  and  bearing 
the  load  of  beauty  on  his  shoulders  as  if  it  were  but 
common  merchandize.  In  answer  to  all  inquiries,  he 
Baid  he  bore  a  present  for  Caesar.  That  was  true, 
though  not  in  the  sense  in  which  he  was  understood  ; 
but  the  reply  was  sufficient,  and  he  pursued  his  way 
unmolested,  tnrough  crowds  of  citizens  and  soldiers. 


22  CLEOPATRA. 


and  past  all  the  lines  of  guards,  till  be  reached  the 
presence  of  the  illustrious  Roman,  and  deposited  the 
fair  burden  at  his  feet. 

Then  he  unloosed  the  package,  and  instead  of  Tyr- 
ian  purples,  of  scarfs  from  Sidon  glistening  with  their 
splendid  saffron  dyes,  or  shawls  of  Babylon  enriched 
with  stripes  of  gold  or  sprinkled  with  woven  flowers, 
there  sprang  forth,  like  Venus  from  the  waves  of 
Ocean,  a  woman  robed  in  beauty  such  as  poet  never 
dreamed,  nor  sculptor's  art  could  fashion.  The  match- 
less queen  of  Egypt  stood  before  him  ;  her  disordered 
apparel  but  half  concealing  the  matured  charms  of 
twenty  summers  ;  her  unbound  tresses  floating  to  her 
feet ;  her  short-sleeved  tunic  leaving  the  white  arms 
uncovered  which  outshone  the  armillge  of  pearls  that 
clasped  them ;  her  olive-brown  cheek  tinged  with 
blushes,  and  her  dark  eyes  beaming  with  anxiety  and 
hope. 

She  came, — she  saw,  and  conquered.  Though  al- 
ways addicted  to  sensual  indulgences,  Ceesar  had  now 
passed  his  fiftieth  year,  and  the  hot  blood  of  youth  no 
longer  warmed  his  veins.  Yet  passion  was  not  wholly 
dead  within  him.  He  was  unprepared  for  so  much 
loveliness,  and  it  filled  him  with  surprise.  Her  charm- 
ing conversation,  her  sparkling  vivacity  and  wit,  in- 
creased the  fascinating  influence  whose  spell  was  on 
him,  and  he  yielded,  without  an  effort  of  resistance,  to 
its  power.  His  Roman  wife  was  forgotten ;  and  in 
the  arms  of  Cleopatra,  he  promised  that  her  will,  in 
Egypt,  should  be  second  to  his  own. 

It  was  nothing  strange  that  the  attachment  should 


CLEOPATRA.  2P 


be  reciprocated  by  the  Egyptian  queen, — not  strange 
that,  escaping  from  an  incestuous  connection,  she 
should  indulge  an  unlawful  passion, — not  strange  that 
flying  from  the  imbecile  husband  provided  for  her 
she  should  find  a  refuge  "  in  a  hero's  love."  There 
was  much  in  the  character  of  the  Eoman  statesman 
and  warrior,  that  was  calculated  to  inspire  her  regcira. 
His  person  was  not  displeasing  to  her ;  and  his  re- 
nown, his  soldierly  skill  and  daring,  his  intelligence, 
and  his  manly  independence,  all  combined  to  attract 
her  to  him.  She  loved  him,  no  doubt,  sincerely ;  and 
manifested  her  affection  by  an  intimacy,  which,  though 
outraging  decency  and  virtue,  was  but  in  keeping  with 
the  customs  and  manners  of  the  time.  She  could  not 
be  his  wife,  and  therefore  became  his  mistress. 

On  the  day  following  this  strange  interview,  Caesar 
gent  for  young  Ptolemy,  and  advised  him  to  become 
reconciled  with  Cleopatra,  to  take  her  as  his  wife,  and 
share  with  her  the  regal  power.  The  suspicions  of  the 
young  monarch  were  at  once  aroused,  and  when  he 
learned,  as  he  soon  did,  that  his  sister  was  at  that  mo- 
ment in  the  apartments  of  Caesar,  his  anger  rose  be- 
yond control.  Rushing  from  the  palace  into  the  open 
street,  he  tore  the  kingly  diadem  from  off  his  head, 
and  trampled  it  beneath  his  feet.  To  the  people  who 
crowded  round  him,  he  said  that  he  had  been  be- 
trayed, and  called  upon  them  to  avenge  hiri.  For  his 
dishonor,  if  he  knew  it  then,  he  cared  but  little,  as  he 
had  before  sought  to  compass  the  death  of  Cleopatra  ; 
but  that  she  was  under  the  protection,  and  enjoyed  the 
confidence  of  Caesar,  seemed  ominous  of  ilL 


«L-    {.-•Wtt..!^ 


24  CLEOPATRA. 


His  story  excited  the  sympathy  of  the  populace,  and 
placing  himself  at  their  head,  he  returned  to  the  palace 
for  the  purpose  of  attacking  Csesar.  But  his  ungovern- 
able rage  only  led  him  into  further  difficulty.  He  was 
Beized  by  the  Koman  soldiers,  and  forced  to  acquiesce 
in  the  arrangement  which  Caesar  had  indicated.  An 
assembly  of  the  Egyptian  people  was  held,  by  order  of 
the  Roman  commander,  at  which  he  announced  his  de- 
cision, as  guardian  and  arbiter,  that  Ptolemy  and  Cleo- 
patra should  reign  together  jointly,  in  Egypt,  accord- 
ing to  the  will  of  their  father  ;  and  that  Ptolemy,  their 
younger  brother,  and  Arsinoe,  the  younger  sister, 
should  exercise  joint  rule  in  Cyprus,  then  a  Roman 
possession,  but  formerly  one  of  the  dependencies  of 
Egypt,  and  now  restored  by  Caesar. 

In  this  decree,  both  Ptolemy  and  Cleopatra,  who 
were  present  when  it  was  pronounced,  concurred  with- 
out hesitation  ;  and  their  example  was  followed  by  all 
the  principal  dignitaries  in  the  kingdom.  But  the 
peace  thus  concluded  was  a  hollow  one.  The  decision 
of  Caesar  was  fatal  to  the  ambitious  designs  of  Pothi- 
nus,  and  at  his  instigation,  Achillas  refused  to  give  his 
assent,  and  marched  with  the  Egyptian  army  upon 
Alexandria.  Ptolemy,  too,  only  waited  for  an  oppor- 
tunity to  manifest  his  dis'nclination  to  abide  by  an  ar- 
rangement which  had  been  forced  upon  him.  While 
in  the  capital,  he  was  but  the  mere  prisoner  of  Caesar, 
and  he  desired  to  be  released  from  the  unwelcome  sur- 
veillance. Professing  the  sincerest  attachment  to  the 
Roman  general,  he  deceived  him  so  far,  that  he  was 
permitted  to  go  to  the  Egyptian  camp,  in  order,  as  he 


CLEOPATRA.  25 


said,  to  prevail  upon  his  friends  to  submit  to  the  decree. 
.  Once  there,  he  threw  off  all  disguise,  and  prepared  for- 
hostilities. 

The  Alexandrean  war  now  succeeded.  Various  for 
tune  attended  the  movements  and  operations  of  the  ri- 
val parties.  At  one  time  the  little  Roman  army  seemed 
doomed  to  be  overwhelmed  by  the  superior  force  of  the 
Egyptians.  But  the  good  genius  of  Caesar  did  not  de- 
sert him.  He  manfully  supported  the  cause  of  Cleo- 
patra which  he  had  espoused,  and  by  repeated  expo- 
sures of  his  own  person  to  danger  and  peril,  for  her 
sake,  awakened  in  her  bosom  still  more  powerful  feel- 
ings of  affection  and  regard.  At  length,  being  sec- 
onded by  the  Roman  troops  from  Syria  and  Cilicia, 
Csesar  prosecuted  the  war  with  his  accustomed  vigor, 
and  it  finally  ended  in  the  complete  overthrow  and 
death  of  Ptolemy,  and  the  general  recognition  of  the 
authority  of  Cleopatra. 

During  the  series  of  contests  that  took  place  in  the 
vicinity  of  Alexandrea,  a  large  portion  of  the  city  was 
destroyed  by  fire,  including  its  chiefest  ornament,  the 
noble  library  founded  by  the  Ptolemies.  At  one  time 
all  seemed  lost.  But  through  the  gathering  gloom, 
the  star  of  Csesar  shone  with  a  lustre  as  of  old.  Midst 
the  ashes  and  ruins  of  the  capital,  his  banners  floated 
proudly  in  triumph  or  in  defiance.  From  street  to 
street  the  enemy  were  driven  by  hi.s  victorious  arms, 
until  the  beleaguered  city  was  relieved.  Indifferent  to 
peril,  he  shared  every  risk  ;  and  each  day  the  heart  of 
Cleopatra  warmed  toward  him,  as  she  beheld  him  fear- 
lessly encountering  danger  for  her  sake.     Before,  slio 


26  CLEOPATRA. 


had  but  loved  him, — now,  gratitude  turned  her  love 
into  devotion. 

The  war  being  ended,  Cleopatra  was  proclaimed 
anew  the  queen  of  Egypt ;  and  in  order  to  gratify  the 
disaffected  partisans  of  Ptolemy,  and  to  allay  the  preju- 
dices of  the  people,  Csesar  decreed  that  she  should 
marry  her  younger  brother,  and  that  he  should  be  as- 
sociated with  her  in  the  government.  This  marriage, 
however,  was  one  of  mere  form,  as  the  younger  Ptole- 
my was  then  but  eleven  years  of  age  ;  and  Cleopatra 
continued  to  share  the  counsels  and  the  bed  of  Caesar. 

Having  thus  put  down  all  opposition,  and  restored 
peace  and  tranquillity  to  the  kingdom,  Caesar  and  Cleo- 
patra made  a  royal  progress  through  the  valley  of  the 
Nile,  accompanied  by  his  Roman  guards,  by  a  large 
retinue  of  friends,  and  by  troops  of  servants  and  attend- 
ants. Slowly  and  leisurely  they  ascended  "  the  great 
river,"  whose  banks  were  yellow  with  the  ripening  har- 
vest, in  barges  with  poops  of  burnished  gold — the  oars, 
inlaid  with  silver,  keeping  time  with  the  measured 
tones  of  sweetest  music,  and  the  carved  prows  cleav- 
ing the  waters  softly,  like  mermaids  in  their  merry 
sports. 

Eeclining  beneath  silken  awnings  spangled  with 
stars  and  flowers,  upon  carpets  that  yielded  to  the 
slightest  pressure,  and  in  whose  woof  the  velvet  foli- 
age of  the  amaranth  was  blended  with  Eastern  roses, 
and  the  azure  flowers  of  the  sacred  lotus,  the  Egyptian 
queen  and  her  noble  lover  passed  the  day  in  slumber, 
lulled  by  the  mellow  strains  of  barbiton  and  pipe,  and 
fanned  by  the  scented  gales  of  "  Araby  the  Blest."     At 


CLEOPATRA.  27 


the  fall  of  even,  ;;lie  lents  were  pitched  upon  the  shore, 
and.  summoned  as  it  were  bv  magic,  long  files  of  slaves 
came  forth,  bearing  the  vessels  of  gold  and  silver  for 
the  feast.  The  board  was  spread  with  fish  and  sesa- 
mum,  with  soup  of  ahca,  with  ohves,  cakes  and  sweet- 
meats, and  the  luscious  fruits  of  Yemen.  Wines  made 
from  the  palm  and  grape,  cooled  in  the  vases  of  Cop- 
tos,  or  sparkled  in  the  golden  craters  wrought  by  Ar- 
give  artists  with  exquisite  skill;  and  lamps  of  per- 
fumed oil,  and  censers  filled  with  burning  incense, 
scattered  their  rich  odors  through  the  groves  of  date- 
palms  and  acacias.  The  night  was  spent  in  merriment 
and  feasting,  and  when  the  morrow  came,  it  but  re- 
newed the  scenes  of  yesterday. 

In  revelry  like  this,  in  love's  soft  dalliance,  the 
winged  hours  flew  swiftly  by.  Though  his  presence 
was  no  longer  needed,  Caesar  still  lingered  at  the  Alex- 
andrean  court.  Cleopatra  became  the  mother  of  a  son, 
named,  after  his  father,  Cgesarion.  Thus  was  there  an- 
other tie  between  them,  and  it  was  dif&cult  to  separate. 
At  last,  the  revolt  of  Pharnaces  obliged  him  to  break 
loose  from  the  sweet  thraldom  which  had  detained 
him,  and  hastening  forthwith  to  Syria,  he  defeated  the 
rebel  prince,  and  drove  him  out  of  the  kingdom  of 
Pontus. 

Meanwhile,  his  enemies  at  home,  not  without  cause, 
had  brought  discredit  on  his  name ;  and  even  his 
warmest  and  most  faithful  friends  did  not  withhold 
their  censures,  for  that  he  had  not  resisted  the  bland- 
ishments of  the  Egyptian  Circe.  Leaving  a  sufficient 
aiunber  of  his  troops  with  Cleopatra,  to  enable  her  to 


28  CLEOPATRA. 


suppress  any  outbreak  that  might  occur,  he  now  re- 
turned to  Eome,  taking  with  him  her  sister,  the  young 
Arsinoe,  who  had  fallen  into  his  hands  as  a  prisoner 
on  the  defeat  of  Ptolemy,  to  grace  the  triumph  decreed 
him  by  the  Roman  Senate. 

From  this  time,  and  until  after  the  death  of  Caesar, 
the  reign  of  Cleopatra  was  not  disturbed  by  foreign 
war  or  internal  commotions.  Her  power  was  firmly 
established,  and  no  one  disputed  her  authority.  Dv^- 
ing  the  minority  of  her  brother,  she  administered  the 
government  alone,  with  a  skill  and  ability  not  unwor- 
thy ol  the  race  from  which  she  sprung.  Though  too 
much  devoted  to  pleasure  and  gayety,  she  was  not 
without  ambition.  She  conciliated  the  favor  of  her 
subjects  by  her  attention  to  their  interests,  by  the  en- 
couragement of  commerce  and  the  arts,  and  the  restora- 
tion of  the  capital  to  its  former  splendor.  Under  the 
powerful  protection  of  the  first  man  in  Rome,  none 
dared  to  molest  her, — kings  and  princes  courted  her 
alliance,  and  stood  in  awe  of  her  name.  It  was,  per- 
haps, a  frail  tenure — the  will  of  Caesar — by  which  she 
held  the  sceptre  ;  but  it  was,  also,  the  sole  alternative 
of  absolute  submission  to  the  Roman  rule.  Egypt  was 
already  doomed.  Nature  had  made  her  the  granary 
of  the  world,  and  she  was  far  too  valuable  a  prize  to 
be  either  overlooked  or  forgotten. 

It  had  been  the  original  intention  of  Caesar  to  bring 
Cleopatra  to  Rome,  and  there  to  marry  her.  For  that 
purpose,  he  had  solicited  a  friend  to  propose  a  law  to 
the  people,  allowing  a  Roman  citizen  to  marry  as  many 
wives  as  he  thought  fit.     His  friend  acceded  to  the  re- 


CLEOPATRA.  29 


quest,  but  notliing  had  been  done  when  he  returned  to 
Rome.  Opposition  to  his  project  being  anticipated,  no 
further  steps  were  taken,  though  he  continued  as  deep- 
ly enamored  with  her  as  ever,  and  many  tender  mes- 
sages were  wont  to  pass  between  them.  Had  he  Hved, 
and  attained  the  imperial  power,  it  is  not  improbable 
that  she  would  have  become  his  wife ;  and  certainly, 
in  one  respect — as  the  two  most  conspicuous  person- 
ages in  the  world — they  would  have  been  fitly  mated. 
She  the  hride  of  Caesar — Caesar  Emperor  of  Rome, — 
what  might  have  been  the  fate  of  both  !  what  the  des- 
tiny of  "  the  Niobe  of  nations  I" 

Events  now  followed  each  other  in  rapid  succession. 
Cleopatra  did  not  soon  forget  her  love  for  Cassar.  She 
visited  him  at  Rome,  became  an  inmate  of  his  palace, 
and  usurped  the  place  which  his  wife  should  have  occu- 
pied. But  her  hopes  of  an  alliance  with  him,  in  which 
he  probably  shared,  were  suddenly  fi-ustrated  by  his 
assassination.  The  Roman  people  did  not  regard  her 
with  favor,  and  she  returned  forthwith  to  Egypt.  Dis- 
appointed in  the  darling  object  of  her  heart,  she  re- 
solved to  reign  alone,  and  was  not  disposed  to  share 
her  throne  with  a  husband  forced  upon  her  acceptance. 
When  her  younger  brother,  therefore,  having  reached 
the  age  of  fourteen  years,  claimed  his  share  of  the  regal 
power,  she  removed  him  by  poison,  and  was  thence- 
forth sole  mistress  of  the  realm. 

Her  court,  like  that  of  her  father,  was  distinguished 
alike  for  its  refinement  and  its  voluptuousness.  She 
was  the  patron,  both  of  learning  and  of  love.  The 
fame  of  her  wit  and  beaut v  was  noised  abroad,  and 


30  CLEOPATRA. 


A-lexandrea  became  the  favorite  resort  of  travellers. 
To  all  she  gave  a  cordial  welcome,  whether  philoso- 
phers and  men  of  letters,  or  gay  gallants  in  quest  of 
pleasure. 

It  would  seem  that  Cleopatra  hesitated,  at  first, 
whether  to  ally  herself  with  the  Triumvirate,  or  with 
the  party  of  Brutus  and  Cassius.  Her  sympathies  were 
unquestionably  with  the  friends  of  Csesar ;  but  while 
it  remained  in  doubt  which  was  the  stronger  faction, 
the  safety  of  her  kingdom  and  herself  appeared  to  re- 
quire that  she  should  not  give  offence  to  either.  Her 
hesitation,  however,  was  not  of  long  continuance. 
Foreseeing  the  ultimate  triumph  of  the  powerful  party 
headed  by  Antony,  Lepidus,  and  Octavius  Csesar,  she 
refused  her  aid  to  Cassius,  which  he  had  earnestly  so- 
licited, and  shortly  after  sailed  with  a  numerous  fleet 
to  join  the  forces  of  the  Triumvirate.  In  consequence 
of  a  violent  storm,  in  which  many  of  her  ships  were 
destroyed  or  disabled,  she  was  obliged  to  return  to 
Egypt,  where  she  remained  till  the  question  was  de- 
cided by  the  utter  discomfiture  and  overthrow  of  the 
republican  faction  in  the  battle  of  Philippi. 

After  the  defeat  of  Brutus  and  Cassius,  and  the  firm 
establishment  in  Greece  of  the  authority  of  his  col- 
leagues and  himself.  Marc  Antony  crossed  over  into 
Asia,  to  secure  and  strengthen  their  interests  in  that 
quarter  of  the  world.  The  prestige  of  his  name  was 
all-powerful.  His  progress  was  one  continued  triumph, 
— not  such  as  best  became  a  conqueror,  but  dishonored 
by  the  most  shameful  debauchery  and  excess.  Kings 
bent  before  him,  in  humble  obeisance,  and  laid  their 


CLEOPATRA.  31 


hoarded  treasures  at  his  feet.  Queens,  rejoicing  in 
youth  and  beauty,  sought  his  presence  eagerly,  and 
yielded  every .  favor  that  he  asked.  Never  was  the 
gross  sensualism  of  his  character  more  glaringly  ex- 
hibited. The  wealth  of  Croesus  filled  his  coffers,  but 
it  was  needed  to  furnish  new  pleasures  for  his  jaded 
appetite.  Sycophants  and  flatterers  shared  his  gold, 
and  partook  with  him  in  every  vice  and  folly.  Dan- 
cers and  buffoons  were  his  companions  and  attendants 
— the  creatures  of  his  bountv,  and  the  ministers  to  his 
passions. 

Eumors  of  the  sports  and  revelry,  the  rioting  and 
feasting,  in  which  he  delighted,  went  before  him 
Cities  sent  forth  their  entire  population  to  greet  his 
coming.  His  followers  called  him  Bacchus — a  name 
that  pleased  him, — and  men  and  boys  disguised  as 
Pans  and  Satyrs,  and  women  dressed  as  Bacchanals  in 
loose  Asiatic  robes,  with  vine-wreaths  about  their 
heads  and  fawn-skins  on  their  shoulders,  ran  before 
him,  swinging  their  thyrsi  crowned  with  acanthus- 
leaves  and  the  foliage  and  berries  of  the  ivy,  beating 
their  drums  and  cymbals,  and  shouting  lo  Bacche  /  lo 
Bacche  I 

This  was  Antony, — brave  but  effeminate  ;  talented 
and  eloquent,  but  coarse  by  nature ;  generous  in  dis- 
position, but  often  cruel  and  unforgiving ;  sometimes 
abandoned,  as  it  seemed,  to  the  very  lowest  vices,  and 
then,  breaking  loose  from  his  degradation,  exhibiting  hia 
character  radiant  with  its  old  light.  This  was  the  An 
tony,  who,  History  tells  us,  was  ruined  by  the  arts  oi 
Cleopatra, — as  if  he  were  an  unwilling  victim,  and  sl:^ 


32  CLEOPATRA. 


were  wrong,  judged  by  the  standard  of  her  time,  m 
adopting  the  only  means  that  could  save  her  country 
Troni  impending  ruin. 

Antony  had  cast  a  longing  eye  on  Egypt,  and  he 
wanted  but  a  pretext,  whether  reasonable  or  unreason- 
able, to  occupy  it  with  his  troops,  abolish  its  govern- 
ment and  laws,  and  seat  a  Eoman  governor  on  the 
throne  of  Cleopatra.  He  had  been  informed  that  the 
governor  of  Phoenicia,  then  an  Egyptian  province,  had 
aided  Cassius,  and  he  now  summoned  her  before  him, 
to  answer  for  the  conduct  of  her  subordinate.  His 
lieutenant,  Dellius,  was  charged  with  his  commands 
to  her,  to  meet  him  at  Tarsus,  the  capital  of  Cilicia. 

To  disobey  this  summons  was  to  incur  the  displeas- 
ure of  Antony,  with  Lepidus  and  Octavius,  joint  ruler 
of  the  world,  and  to  arm  the  whole  power  of  Rome 
against  her  feeble  kingdom.  She  determined,  there- 
fore, to  comply  ;  but  that  it  might  seem  hke  condescen- 
sion, rather  that  enforced  submission,  she  did  not  has- 
ten the  preparations  for  her  journey.  From  Dellius  she 
learned  the  weak  points  of  Antony :  she  knew  his 
character,  and  felt  assured  he  would  prove  an  easy  con- 
quest. He  was  fond  of  money,  not  so  much  for  its 
own  sake,  as  for  the  pleasures  and  amusements  it  could 
purchase  ; — so  from  her  affluence,  she  provided  herself 
with  the  richest  presents,  and  an  ample  store  of  gold 
and  silver.  He  was  vain,  and  relished  display  and 
pomp ; — so  she  caused  a  barge  to  be  built,  whose  mag- 
nificence had  never  yet  been  equalled  ;  and  its  accom- 
paniments, and  her  own  habits  and  ornaments,  were 
suited  to  her  dignity  and  wealth,  and  in  keeping  with 


CLEOPATRA.  33 


the  show  and  splendor  with  which  she  intended  to  daz- 
zle the  eyes  of  all  beholders,  and  to  charm  and  capti- 
vate the  Eoinan  general. 

But,  more  than  all,  he  was  the 

"  courteous  Antony, 
Whom  ne'er  the  word  of  No  woman  heard  speak," — 

and  so  she  brought  herself. — And  Cleopatra  was  not 
aow  the  young  and  inexperienced  girl  who  gave  her 
love  to  Caesar.  She  was  in  her  twenty-sixth  year,  and 
every  charm  was  perfected,  every  grace  was  finished. 
With  both  mind  and  person  fully  developed,  winning 
in  her  address,  fascinating  in  conversation,  possessing 
a  vivacity  in  whose  presence  melancholy  was  changed 
to  mirthfulness,  and  skilled  "  in  every  art  of  wanton- 
ness" and  coquetry,  she  was  peerless  and  irresistible. 
None  knew  it  better  than  herself, — none  felt  it  more 
than  Antony. 

Though  she  received  many  pressing  letters  from 
Antony  and  his  friends,  urging  her  to  expedite  her 
movements,  she  affected  to  treat  them  with  disdain, 
and  lingered  long  at  every  place  she  visited  upon  the 
way.  No  thought  of  haste  appeared  to  animate  her ; 
out  she  travelled  slowly,  as  if  intent  on  pleasure,  or 
delighting  to  provoke  the  impatience  of  those  who 
waited  for  her  arrival.  At  last  her  fleet  was  moored 
within  the  entrance  of  "  the  silver  Cydnus," — and 
then,  in  the  splendid  galley  brought  across  the  sea,  fol- 
lowed by  a  long  line  of  smaller  barges,  she  ascended 
the  river  to  Tarsus. 

It  was  a  sflorious  paojeant ! — The  richest  carving? 
^  3 


84  CLEOPATKA. 

adorned  her  barge,  which  fairly  blazed  with  gold  and 
splendor.  Its  sails  of  brightest  purple,  swelled  grace- 
fully with  the  soft  south  wind  that  strained  its  silken 
cordage.  Its  oars,  both  blade  and  handle  tipped  and 
bound  with  silver,  moved  in  harmony  with  the  volup- 
tuous music  of  the  flute,  the  pipe,  and  cithern.  Above 
it  floated  the  mystic  ensign  of  the  Egyptian  monarchs  ; 
and  from  the  burning  censers  on  its  prow,  clouds  of 
odorous  perfume  were  wafted  to  the  shore.  Upon  its 
deck  was  raised  a  lofty  canopy  of  cloth  of  gold,  be- 
neath which,  on  a  cushioned  couch,  with  ivory  and 
tortoise-shell  inlaid,  reclined  the  dark-eyed  queen  of 
Egypt.  She  was  robed  like  Venus  in  a  purple  mantle, 
glittering  with  diamonds,  and  its  border  ornamented 
with  threads  of  gold  and  silver  intertwined.  Roses 
and  myrtles  were  wreathed  about  her  brows  ;  her  ears 
were  pierced  with  rings  of  orichalcum  ;  a  necklace  of 
precious  stones  encircled  her  swan-like  throat ;  the 
golden  cestus  clasped  her  waist,  and  golden  sandals  in 
cased  her  tiny  feet.  Beautiful  boys,  disguised  as  Cu 
pids,  stood  beside  her,  and  fanned  her  with  their  wings. 
Damsels,  among  the  fairest  at  her  court,  whose  houried 
beauty  could  not  be  surpassed,  were  habited  as  Ne- 
reids and  Graces,  in  loose,  transparent  robes,  and  wait- 
ed to  do  her  bidding,  or  managed  the  helm  and  sails 
with  great  dexterity  and  skill. 

"  The  tackling  silk,  the  streamers  waved  with  gold 
The  gentle  winds  were  lodged  in  purple  sails. 
Her  nymphs,  like  Nereids,  roimd  her  couch  were  placed, 
Where  she,  another  sea-born  Venus,  lay. 
She  lay  and  lean'd  her  cheek  upon  her  hand, 


CLEOPATRA.  36 


And  cast  a  look  so  languisliin^ly  8W€et, 

As  if,  secure  of  all  beholders'  hearts, 

Neglecting  she  could  take  them.     Boys,  like  Cupids. 

Stood  fanning  with  their  painted  wings  the  winds 

That  played  about  her  face  ;  but  if  she  smiled, 

A  darting  glory  seemed  to  blaze  abroad, 

That  man's  desiring  eyes  were  never  wearied, 

But  hung  upon  the  object !     To  soft  flutes 

The  silver  oars  kept  time ;  and  while  they  played, 

The  hearing  gave  new  pleasures  to  the  sight, 

And  both  to  thought !     'Twas  heaven  or  somewhat  more . 

For  she  so  charmed  all  hearts,  that  gazing  crowds 

Stood  panting  on  the  shore,  and  wanted  breath 

To  give  their  welcome  voice."* 

The  shore  was  lined  with  people,  who  watched  the 
barge  laden  with  so  much  beauty,  with  straining  ejes. 
As  it  moved  along,  the  cry  was  raised,  that  Venus  had 
come  to  feast  with  Bacchus.  From  mouth  to  mouth  it 
passed,  until  it  reached  the  market-place  in  Tarsus. 
All  hastened  forth  to  witness  her  approach, — all  save 
Antony,  who,  deserted  by  suitors  and  attendants,  re- 
mained alone  on  the  tribunal  where  he  was  seated. 
Immediately  upon  her  landing,  he  sent  an  officer  to 
her  with  his  greeting,  coupled  with  the  request  that 
she  would  come  and  sup  with  him, 

"Go,  tell  your  master,"  was  her  reply,  "that  it  is 
more  fitting  he  should  come  and  sup  with  me  !" 

This  assumption  of  social  superiority  put  an  end  at 
once  to  all  the  dignity  which  Antony  purjDosed  to  as- 
sume. He  accepted  the  invitation  of  Cleopatra ;  and 
thus,  at  the  very  outset,  exhibited  a  deference  toward 
her  by  which  she  did  not  fail  to  profit. 

*  Dryden's  "  All  for  Love," — act  ill. 


36  CLEOPATRA. 


For  luxurious  magnificence,  and  costly  and  profuse 
evtravagance,  the  entertainment  provided  by  Cleopatra 
had  never  yet  been  equalled.     Her  tents  and  pavilions, 
hung  with  cloth  of  gold,  or  silken  tapestry  from  the 
]ooms  of  Tyre  and  Sidon,   were  pitched  beside  the 
sparkling  waters  of  the  Cydnus,  in  a  noble  grove  of 
spreading  plane-trees  and  stately  laurels.     Lamps  of 
bronze  and  gold,  suspended  by  gilt  chains  or  supported 
by  lofty  candelabra,  arranged  in  squares  and  circles, 
and  raised  or  depressed  at  pleasure,  shed  their  per- 
fumed light  around.     Blazing  censers,  filled  with  choi- 
cest spices,  loaded  the  air  with  fragrance.     There  were 
long  rows  of  marble  tables  and  silver  tripods,  covered 
with  tureens,  and  urns,  and  vases,  of  gold  and  silver, 
fashioned  with  elegance  and  taste.     Large  silver  lances, 
or  chargers,  splendidly  embossed,  contained  the  juicy 
meats,  the  fish,  the  hares,  and  pheasants.     The  bread 
and    fruited   cake   were   brought  in    silver    baskets. 
Bronze  dishes,  with  ornaments  inlaid,  were  filled  with 
eggs  and  roes  of  fishes,  with  oysters  from  the  Helles- 
pont, with  fresh  and  pickled  olives,  with  frumenty  and 
radishes,  with  dried  dates  and  raisins,  mulberries  new- 
ly gathered,  and  almonds  and  confections.     Banquet- 
ing cups  of  most  exquisite  workmanship,  were  wreathed 
with  garlands  and  poured  brimming  full  with  the  rich 
juice  of  Chios,  or  the  produce  of  the  Egyptian  soil — 
not  the  mild  wines  of  Thebais  and  Coptos,  but  the 
light  fragrant  Mareoticum,  and  the  oily  and  aromatic 
Taenioticum, 

Upon  the  ornamented  seats  and  couches  reclined  the 
^ests,  with  chaplets  of  violets  and  roses,  myrtle,  ivy, 


CLEOPATRA, 


37 


and  philyra,  bound  about  their  temples.  Their  ears 
were  charmed  with  the  soft  strains  of  music,  and  buf- 
foons amused  them  with  their  droll  tricks  and  pleasan- 
tries. Attending  servants  cooled  them  with  fans  of 
peacock  feathers,  while  they  listened  to  the  mytholo- 
gical love-stories  which  the  pantomimes  related,  or 
watched  the  dancing  girls,  who,  clad  in  the  gossamer 
robes  of  Coa,  with  golden  bangles  upon  their  feet,  and 
emerald  brooches  upon  their  arms  and  shoulders, 
moved  with  airy  steps  before  them, — 

"  The  sparkling  eyes  and  flashing  ornaments, 
The  white  arms  and  the  raven  hair,  the  braids 
And  bracelets,  swan-like  bosoms,  the  thin  robes 
Floating  like  light." 

High  above  them  all  was  Cleopatra,  and  Antony  re- 
clining near  her.  Upon  her  head  the  diadem  of  Egypt, 
with  the  asp,  the  emblem  of  divinity,  upon  it,  flashed 
with  rarest  gems.  Her  tunic  glittered  with  all  the 
colors  of  the  East,  and  was  overspread  with  rich  em- 
broidery. A  Babylonian  shawl  of  finest  tissue  was 
thrown  around  her  shoulders,  and  at  her  side  there 
gleamed  a  Persian  dagger  whose  hilt  was  pearls  and 
diamonds.  Cushions  of  crimson  damask  rose  invitingly 
about  her  swelling  limbs.  Her  full  lips  parted  but  to 
utter  honeyed  words.  The  glow  of  satisfaction  was  on 
her  cheek,  and  in  her  eye  the  light  of  triumph. 

Joy  and  merriment  everywhere  prevailed.  The 
guests  pledged  each  other  in  wine-cups  brimming  full. 
Honey  and  spices  were  brought  and  mingled  in  the 
wine,  and  with  the  fragrant  compound  they  drank  the 


38  CLEOPATRA. 


health  of  Cleopatra.  The  Eoman  guards  without  the 
tents,  were  also  served  with  sumptuous  fare,  and  in- 
stead of  posca,  filled  their  rhytons  with  the  barley  wine 
of  Egypt. 

Antony  was  in  raptures  with  everything  he  saw  and 
heard.  His  expectations  were  far  exceeded, — his  wild- 
est imaginings  had  not  dwelt  upon  such  splendor  and 
magnificence.  The  following  day  he  returned  the 
compliment,  but  his  entertainment  was  so  mean  com- 
pared with  hers,  that  he  was  obliged  to  acknowledge 
himself  outdone.  He  had  boasted  that  Cleopatra 
should  pay  him  tribute  or  resign  her  kingdom ;  but 
now  he  yielded  all  to  her,  and  even  caused  her  sister 
Arsinoe,  who  had  taken  refuge  in  Diana's  temple  at 
Miletus,  to  be  put  to  death,  at  her  request,  that  there 
should  be  no  rival  to  contest  her  throne.  She  encour- 
aged all  his  follies,  humored  every  caprice,  and  laughed 
at  every  whim.  His  coarseness  she  returned  with  in- 
terest, and  with  infinite  wit  and  grace.  He  sought  her 
love  with  warmest  protestations ;  but  "  she  yielded 
with  coy  submission." 

"  Nay  !  swear  that  you  love  me,"  she  said, — "  swear 
by  the  holy  Osiris  !" 

"  I  swear  ! "  he  said. 

Thenceforth  she  called  herself  the  wife  of  Antony, 
though  no  rite  nor  ceremony  had  sanctioned  their 
illicit  love. 

Day  after  day  was  given  to  feasting — each  enter- 
tainment surpassing  in  elegance  that  which  preceded 
it.  Antony  was  astonished  at  the  wealth  so  lavishly 
displayed  by  Cleopatra.     She*  only  sneered  at  what  she 


CLEOPATRA.  89 


called  his  parsimony.  At  a  banquet  given  by  her,  lie 
expressed  his  wonder  at  the  great  number  of  golden 
cups,  enriched  with  jewels,  and  beautifully  wrought, 
that  adorned  the  tables.  She  said  they  were  but  tri- 
fles, and  gave  them  to  him.  The  next  day  she  provi 
ded  a  still  more  costly  entertainment ;  Antony,  as  was 
his  custom,  brought  with  him  all  his  officers  of  rank ; 
and  when  the  feast  was  ended,  she  bestowed  on  each 
guest  the  vessels  of  gold  and  silver  he  had  used.  At 
another  of  her  banquets,  she  wore  in  her  ear-rings  two 
pearls  of  immense  value  ;  and  having*  made  a  wager 
with  Antony  that  she  could  spend  more  than  ten  thou- 
sand sestertia  upon  a  single  entertainment,  the  value 
of  the  different  dishes  was  estimated,  but  falling  short 
of  that  sum,  she  declared  that  she  could  lay  out  so 
much  upon  herself,  and  calling  for  a  cup  of  vinegar, 
dissolved  in  it  one  of  the  pearls,  and  then  drank  off 
the  costly  draught.  She  was  about  to  do  the  same 
with  the  other  pearl,  but  the  umpire  stopped  her,  and 
decided  the  wager  in  her  favor. 

Forgetful  alike  of  public  duties  and  private  ties  and 
obligations,  Antony  lingered  away  the  time  at  Tarsus 
in  revelry  and  dalliance.  Affairs  in  Syria  demanded 
his  attention,  in  consequence  of  the  warlike  demonstra- 
tions of  Parthia,  yet  they  were  neglected.  At  Rome 
his  individual  interests  were  suifering  bv  reason  of  his 
continued  absence,  but  his  spirited  and  ambitious  wife, 
Fulvia,  in  vain  besought  him  to  hasten  his  return.  A 
spell  was  thrown  around  him  which  he  had  not  the 
desire,  if  he  possessed  the  power,  to  break.  The 
tighter  his  chains  were  drawn,  the  closer  he  hugged 


40  CLEOPATRA. 


them — tlie  more  he  loved  the  beautiful  tyrant  whose 
willing  slave  he  was. 

From  Tarsus  Antony  and  Cleopatra  proceeded  to 
Tyre,  at  which  place  she  was  to  embark  for  Alexan- 
drea.  Here  he  designed  to  separate  from  her,  in  order 
to  lead  the  Eoman  army  against  the  Parthian  forces 
then  preparing  to  enter  Syria.  But  this  was  not  her 
intention.  She  had  lost  Csesar,  as  she  thought,  mainly 
through  her  own  neglect  to  render  her  influence  over 
him  secure.  It  was  her  ambition  now,  to  become  the 
acknowledged  wife  of  Antony.  His  prospects  were  as 
fair,  if  not  prematurely  blighted,  as  those  of  the 
younger  Csesar,  whose  superior  he  was  in  age,  in  expe- 
rience, and,  perhaps,  in  popularity.  As  his  wife,  then, 
she  would  not  only  remain  the  queen  of  Egypt,  but 
she  might  be  Empress  of  Eome  and  of  the  world.  To 
suffer  him  to  leave  her,  therefore,  till  the  fulfilment  of 
those  hopes,  which,  once  buried  in  the  grave  of 
Ca3sar,  had  now  revived  again,  would  be  to  ruin  them 
forever. 

Her  arts  and  blandishments  proved  irresistible. 
Home,  country,  duty  and  ambition — all  were  forgotten 
by  Antony.  Instead  of  leading  his  soldiers  to  new 
victories,  and  planting  the  Eoman  eagles  in  triumph 
on  the  banks  of  the  Euphrates,  he  accompanied  Cleo- 
patra to  Alexandrea.  In  the  Egyptian  capital  the 
scenes  at  Tarsus  Avere  renewed.  He  gave  himself  up 
to  all  the  wild,  fierce  passions  of  his  nature,  and  rev- 
elled in  debauchery  and  excess.  She  did  not  once 
make  the  attempt  to  restrain  him,  but  gave  encourage- 
ment to  every  folly,  and  rejoiced  whenever  she  was 


CLEOPATRA.  41 


able  to  provide  some  new  pleasure  for  his  entertain- 
ment. This  was  the  secret  of  her  power,  and  she  did 
not  hesitate  to  use  it. 

She  was  with  him  day  and  night.  They  gamed, 
and  feasted,  and  drank  together.  They  fished  and 
hunted  in  each  other's  company,  and  she  attended  him 
when  he  reviewed  his  troops.  Disguised  as  slaves, 
they  rambled  through  the  city  in  the  dusk  of  evening, 
making  themselves  merry  with  the  faults  and  frailties 
of  the  inhabitants,  jesting  rudely  mth  those  they  met, 
and  playing  tricks  upon  them,  and  often  becoming  in- 
volved in  serious  brawls  and  difficulties.  They  called 
their  mode  of  life  "  inimitable  :"  and  it  was  so — for  it 
was  characterized  by  unrestrained  indulgence  and  ex- 
travagance unbounded. 

But  while  she  thus  encouraged  and  ministered  to 
his  vices,  she  neglected  no  opportunity  to  impress  him, 
and  those  who  were  about  them,  with  the  notion  that 
she  possessed  superior  tact  and  sagacity.  She  treated 
his  opinions  with  levity,  and  exacted  a  large  share  of 
deference  for  her  own.  Even  their  amusements  fur- 
nished occasions  for  triumph  over  him,  which  she  failed 
not  to  improve.  One  day  when  they  were  fishing,  he 
was  deeply  chagrined  at  his  ill-success,  and  ordered 
one  of  the  fishermen  to  dive  under  the  water  secretly, 
and  fasten  some  of  the  larger  fishes  that  had  been 
taken  upon  his  hook,  so  that  the  raillery  of  the  queen 
might  not  be  provoked.  She  discovered  the  trick  at 
once,  but  affected  not  to  perceive  it ;  and  on  the  fol- 
lowing day  invited  a  still  more  numerous  company  to 
witness  similar  sport.     But  she  privatel}'  instructed  an 


42  CLEOPATRA. 


experienced  diver  in  her  service,  to  procure  a  salted 
fish  from  the  market,  and  when  a  favorable  opportu- 
lity  offered,  to  attach  it  to  Antony's  hook.  This  was 
ione,  and  he  drew  up  the  fish  amid  the  laughter  and 
merriment  of  the  whole  party. — "  Go,  general !"  she 
exclaimed,  "  leave  fishing  to  us,  petty  princes  of  Pha- 
ros and  Canopus  ;  your  game  is  cities,  kingdoms,  and 
provinces  1 " 

At  length  Antony  was  aroused  from  his  folly  and 
inaction,  by  the  intelligence  that  the  Parthian  army 
had  been  repeatedly  victorious  in  Syria,  and  that  his 
presence  was  absolutely  necessary  to  prevent  fresh  dis- 
asters. The  news  from  Rome,  too,  was  far  from  pleas- 
ing to  him  ;  his  wife  and  brother,  more  watchful  of  his 
interests  than  himself,  had  raised  an  army  to  check  the 
ambitious  designs  of  Octavius ;  but  they  had  been 
overpowered,  and  were  forced  to  flee  from  Italy.  He 
proceeded  to  Phoenicia,  however,  but  the  letters  of 
Fulvia  finally  induced  him  to  turn  his  course  toward 
Rome.  She  died  at  Sicyon,  on  her  way  to  meet  him  : 
and  he  was  afterward  reconciled  to  young  Caesar,  and 
married  his  sister  Octavia.  Her  gentle  virtues  did  not 
fail  to  win  upon  his  better  nature  ;  but  the  marriage 
had  been  based  upon  political  considerations  solely 
and  he  soon  began  to  tire  of  the  restraints  it  imposed. 
Memory  often  dwelt  upon  the  fascinating  charms  of 
the  fair  Egyptian,  and  he  longed  to  return  to  her  again, 
but  durst  not  hazard  a  rupture  with  his  brother-in-law 
and  co-triumvir. 

Years  passed  by.     The  world  had  been  divided  be- 
tween the  triumvirs,  and  Antony  had  received  for  his 


CLEOPATRA.  43 


portion  the  countries  lying  east  of  the  Ionian  sea.  Im- 
portant matters  of  state,  and  the  active  duties  of  his 
life,  diverted  his  mind  from  Cleopatra,  yet  she  was  not 
forgotten.  The  condition  of  affairs  in  Syria  once  more 
demanded  his  attention,  and  leaving  Octavia  behind 
him  at  Rome,  he  re-visited  the  scenes  around  which 
clustered  so  many  pleasant  but  guilty  recollections. 
There  Cleopatra  joined  him  again,  upon  his  earnest 
solicitation,  though  she  did  not  attempt  to  conceal  her 
anger  because  he  had  deserted  her,  and  married  Octa- 
via. She  was  still  ambitious,  and  still  claimed  the 
name  and  station  of  his  wife :  she  loved  him  also,  it 
may  be,  and  was  jealous  of  her  Roman  rival.  To  ap- 
pease her,  therefore,  he  gave  her  the  provinces  of  Rhoe- 
nicia,  the  Lower  Syria,  the  isle  of  Cyprus,  and  a  great 
part  of  Cilicia,  with  the  balm-producing  portion  of  Ju- 
dea,  and  a  large  and  fertile  tract  of  Arabia.  Upon  the 
twin  children,  Alexander  and  Cleopatra,  which  she 
had  boru'C  him,  he  bestowed  the  surnames  of  the  Sun 
and  Moon. 

After  spending  several  months  with  him,  Cleopatra 
returned  to  Egypt,  and  he  proceeded  against  the  Par- 
thians  with  a  powerful  and  well-appointed  army.  But 
the  unwise  delay  was  fatal  to  the  expedition,  which 
was  wholly  unsuccessful ;  and  when  he  returned  to 
Phoenicia,  it  was  with  the  mere  remnant  of  the  proud 
array  he  had  led  across  the  sandy  plains  of  Syria.  The 
timely  arrival  of  Cleopatra  at  Sidon,  where  he  awaited 
her,  with  supplies  of  clothing  and  provisions,  alone 
saved  his  army  from  utter  destruction. 

Henceforth  the  wiles  of  the  charming  queen  were 


44  CLEOPATRA. 


far  more  powerful  with  Antony  than  all  other  influ- 
ences combined.  ISTow  that  he  was  restored  to  her, 
she  resolved  not  to  lose  sight  of  him  again.  Separated 
from  him  she  was  but  the  sovereign  of  a  petty  king  • 
dom ;  with  him — a  ruler  of  the  world — she  Avas  not 
only  the  companion  of  his  pleasures,  but  she  governed 
and  controlled  him.  Accordingly,  all  her  arts  were 
employed  to  retain  him  near  her, — and  they  were  not 
employed  in  vain. 

Octavia  came  as  far  as  Athens  to  meet  her  lord  and 
husband,  but  he  sent  her  back  to  Eome  with  bitter 
words.  This  was  Cleopatra's  triumph,  but  she  rued  i^ 
bitterly  in  the  hour  of  her  humiliation.  She  saved 
Egypt  from  the  Roman's  grasp,  but  sacrificed  herself. 
Antony  became  her  veriest  slave ;  for  her  sake  he 
heaped  indignities  upon  his  lawful  wife,  and  added  to 
them  the  last  and  foulest  one  of  all,  repudiation.  She 
conquered,  but  unmanned  him. 

The  pride  and  daring  of  the  soldier  were  not,  indeed, 
altogether  subdued  in  the  effeminacy  of  the  lover,  and 
the  weakness  of  the  debauchee.  After  spending  an- 
other winter  at  the  Egyptian  capitol,  wearied  and  sated 
with  pleasure,  he  took  the  field  again  the  following 
spring.  Armenia  was  conquered,  and  its  captive  mon- 
arch dragged  through  Alexandrea,  where  he  celebra- 
ted his  triumph,  at  his  chariot  wheels,  laden  with 
chains  of  gold,  and  thus  presented  to  the  lovely  siren 
who  v/as  the  victor's  victor.  Again  the  banquet  and 
the  feast  filled  up  the  time ;  and  sport,  and  revelry, 
and  dalliance,  made  Antony  the  wreck  of  what  he  was. 
But  his  return  to  Eome  was  thus  prevented,  and  it 


CLEOPATRA,  45 


«vas  that  she  ardently  desired.  Her  charms  were  fad- 
ing now ;  in  a  few  years  their  influence  would  be  no 
longer  felt ;  and  it  would  seem,  that  she  hoped  to  re- 
tain her  povor,  r-y  ministering  to  his  coarser  passions 
and  desires. 

Once  movj  ho  prepared  to  lead  his  soldiers  against 
tlie  ParthiTA.  Cleopatra  had  promised  to  accompany 
him  to  the  /j^c.phrates,  and  she  had  pictured  to  herself 
bright  sconf  a  of  future  glory  and  conquest.  But  before 
they  set  o'^t  upon  the  expedition,  the  ceremony  of  the 
coronation  of  herself  and  children  was  performed.  In 
the  paJ^o  court,  a  throne  of  solid  gold,  with  steps  of 
silver  was  ordered  to  be  placed.  Seated  upon  this, 
and  clad  in  a  robe  of  gorgeous  purple  embroidered 
with  gold  and  fastened  with  diamonds,  was  Antony 
himself,  with  a  golden  sceptre  in  his  hand,  at  his  side  a 
Persian  scimitar,  and  on  his  head  the  diadem  of  the 
Persian  kings.  On  his  right  hand  was  Cleopatra,  in 
the  robes  of  Isis  made  of  costly  asbeston, — the  lotus 
twined  about  the  diadem  upon  her  head,  and  in  her 
hand,  the  ratthng  sistrum.  Beneath  them  sat  Cassarion, 
the  son  of  Julius  Cassar,  and  Alexander  and  Ptolemy, 
the  sons  of  Antony  and  Cleopatra. 

At  Antony's  command,  the  heralds  proclaimed  Cleo- 
patra, queen  of  Egypt,  C}'^pius,  Libya,  and  Lower 
Syria,  and  named  her  son  Csesarion  as  her  colleague. 
The  other  princes  were  then  proclaimed  "  kings  of 
kings ;"  and  the  kingdoms  and  provinces  of  the  East 
were  divided  between  them.  Thus  ended  the  pageant, 
— and  it  was  all  but  empty  show. 

Cleopatra  accompanied   Antony  in  his  expedition, 


46  CLEOPATRA. 


for  they  were  now  inseparable.  They  proceeded  as  far 
as  the  Araxes,  but  alarming  news  from  Kome  recalled 
them.  They  then  directed  their  course  to  Grreece  ;  at 
Ephesus,  at  Samos,  and  at  Athens,  spending  weeks 
and  months  in  revelry  and  feasting,  which,  profitably 
employed,  would  have  made  them  masters  of  Rome, 
and  thus  realized  the  glorious  dreams  of  her  proud  am- 
bition. Never  was  woman  so  self-deceived.  She  an- 
ticipated an  easy  victory  over  the  stripling  Caesar,  when 
Antony  declared  war  against  him.  Her  jealous  pride 
rose  high  with  the  thought  that  Octavia  would  be 
humbled, — that  Antony  would  be  the  world's  gre-at 
master,  and  she  its  mistress. 

The  delusion  was  not  a  strange  one ;  and  from  it 
she  never  woke,  till  from  her  galley's  deck  at  Actium, 
she  saw  that  all  was  lost.  Had  Antony  pushed  on  to 
Rome,  he  could  scarcely  have  failed  of  victory.  It 
was  not  his  wish  that  Cleopatra  should  remain  with 
him,  but  fearing,  with  very  good  reason,  that  a  recon- 
ciliation would  take  place  between  Octavius  and  An- 
tony if  she  returned  to  Egypt,  she  bribed  one  of  the 
counsellors  of  the  latter,  in  whom  he  placed  great  con- 
fidence, to  advise  that  she  should  continue  at  his  side. 

Antony  lingered  away  most  precious  time,  and  when 
at  last  he  ventured  to  risk  an  engagement,  he  listened 
to  the  advice  of  Cleopatra,  instead  of  following  his  own 
better  judgment,  and  offered  battle  at  sea.  The  hos- 
tile fleets  encountered  each  other  before  the  promon- 
tory of  Actium.  Foreseeing  certain  defeat,  on  account 
of  the  imbecility  and  want  of  skill  displayed  by  An- 
tony, Cleopatra  determined  to  secure  her  own  personal 


CLEOPATRA. 


47 


safety,  and  left  the  scene  of  the  tngagement  with  her 
fifty  galleys.  Antony  might  still  have  made  a  noble 
staod,  but  his  courageous  spirit  seemed  to  have  for- 
saken' him.  He  gave  up  everything  without  a  strug- 
gle worthy  of  his  name  and  character,  and  followed  the 
flying  Cleopatra.  Having  been  received  into  her  gal- 
ley, they  hastened  with  all  speed  to  Alexandi-ea,— not 
to  make  a  noble  stand  in  defence  of  what  was  left  to 
them,  but  to  forget  their  folly  in  the  wildest  excesses, 
or  in  the  intervals  of  dissipation,  to  load  each  other 
with  reproaches. 

It  is  as  two  jealous  lovers,  not  bound  together  by 
the  sacred  tendrils  of  an  honest  affection,  but  united  by 
an  unholy  passion,  that  Antony  and  Cleopatra  are 
from  this  time  to  be  regarded.  They  loved  and  hated 
one  another  by  turns, — they  doubted  and  deceived 
each  other.  One  day  she  spen^  in  feasting  with  him 
as  in  former  days,  and  on  the  next  refused  to  see  him. 
She  feared,  as  had  been  the  case  before  so  often,  that 
Antony  would  make  his  peace  with  Gtesar ;  and  so, 
she  resolved  to  provide  for  her  own  security,  by  se- 
cretly dispatching  friendly  messages  to  the  conqueror. 

Upon  the  arrival  of  Octavius  with  his  army  before 
the  walls  of  Alexandrea,  the  warrior  heart  of  Antony 
aroused  itself  once  more.  He  made  a  gallant  sally,  and 
drove  back  the  advancing  legions.  But  the  advantage 
he  achieved  was  but  temporary,  and  on  the  following 
day  the  fleet  of  Cleopatra  was  surrendered  by  her 
command  to  Caesar.  Antony  sought  the  queen  forth- 
with to  charge  her  with  her  treachery.  But  she  had 
now  immured  herself,  with  all  her  most  valuable  treas- 


48  CLEOPATRA. 


ures,  in  a  loftj  tomb  which  she  had  caused  to  be 
erected  beside  the  temple  of  Isis.  In  reply  to  the  in- 
quiries of  Antony,  from  whose  ungovernable  rage  the 
worst  consequences  were  feared  in  case  they  saw  each 
other  then,  it  was  told  him  that  she  had  killed  herself. 
His  love  for  her  at  once  retarned,  and  shutting  him- 
self up  in  his  apartment,  he  fell  upon  his  sword.  At 
this  moment,  an  officer  came  to  inform  him  that  Cleo- 
patra was  still  alive ;  and  at  his  request  he  was  carried 
to  the  tomb,  and  there  he  died  folded  in  her  arms — 
those  arms  whose  fascinating  embrace  had  brought 
him  to  this  strait. 

By  stratagem  the  officers  of  Octavius  obtained  ad- 
mission into  the  tomb ;  whereupon  she  attempted  to 
stab  herself  with  a  dagger,  but  her  design  was  frustra- 
ted by  their  interference.  Octavius  himself  now  came 
to  see  her.  She  appeared  before  him  clothed  in  a  simple 
under  tunic,  thinking,  perhaps,  the  charms  displayed 
so  freely  might  move  him,  but  he  did  not  deign  to  no- 
tice them.  "  The  deadly  sorrow  charactered  in  her 
face"  had  robbed  her  of  her  former  beauty.  She  then 
urged  him  with  tears,  to  spare  her  children  and  her- 
self, and  leave  them  undisturbed  in  Egypt.  He  prom- 
ised fairly,  but  she  doubted  him  ;  and  she  determined 
to  die  by  her  own  hand,  rather  than  be  led  in  triumph, 
like  the  humblest  slave,  before  the  car  of  the  Eoman 
conqueror.  This  degradation  she  had  always  feared  : 
her  high  soul  revolted  at  the  prospect  which  she  saw 
before  her ;  an.d  sooner  than  be  young  Csesar's  captive, 
she  resolved  to  perish  pobly,— •- 


CLEOPATRA.  49 

"  although  unqueened. 
Yet  like  a  queen." 

With  the  effect  of  different  poisons  she  had  made 
tierself  perfectly  famihar ;  and  either  by  this  means, 
or,  as  was  commonly  believed,  by  the  bite  of  an  as], 
secretly  introduced  into  the  tomb,  her  life  was  ended. 

Such  was  the  fate  of  Cleopatra.  Faults  and  vices 
she  exhibited,  which,  revolting  as  they  were,  need 
not  be  excused  in  her,  for  they  were  characteristic  of 
her  age.  Though  her  virtues  were  mental  only,  they 
deserve  to  be  remembered.  It  should  not  be  forgotten 
also,  that  History — all-partial  to  the  Roman  as  it  is — 
has  scarcely  done  her  justice.  She  loved  Csesar,  and 
to  her  it  seemed  not  guilty.  She  was  ambitious,  too, 
not  only  desiring  to  save  her  throne  and  kingdom,  but 
to  reign  in  Eome.  In  her  intercourse  with  Antony, 
she  was  prompted  not  by  sensual  motives  only,  but 
chiefly  by  policy  and  ambition.  She  was,  indeed,  mis- 
taken as  to  the  effect  of  the  means  and  arts  which  she 
employed  to  win  him  to  her.  Judged  by  the  times  io 
which  she  lived,  this  was  her  error  1 


ISABELLA  OF  CASTILE. 


v.- 


>  J  J  J  J 

5    H  ■>    ■)   ■) 


^  "i-. 


Trn^a  TjyABolm.^'^^- 


4/7.4-^./^'  %zM/i 


'She  had  all  the  royal  makings  of  a  queen." — Shakspeaeb. 

Isabella  of  Spain — The  Catholic,  as  she  was  called 
—stands  before  the  world,  as  a  model  of  queenly  and 
womanly  excellence.  In  her,  the  energy  of  manhood, 
the  wisdom  of  the  otatesman,  the  devout  rectitude  of  a 
saint,  and  the  nderness  d  grace  of  woman,  were 
more  perfectly  .  ombin  d  than  in  any  female  sovereign 
whose  name  adorns  the  pag  of  history.  Far  as  the 
east  is  from  the  west,  end  tant  as  their  several  peri- 
ods, is  the  charactr  oi  this  renown  d  Castillian  from 
that  of  the  passionate  and  cunning  Cleopatra.  The 
beautiful  conscientiousness  of  the  former,  her  firm  ad- 
herence to  conviction,  her  delicacy  and  mercy  and 
sweet  humility,  are  a  proof  of  the  moral  superioritv 
resulting  from  the  prevalence  of  Truth,  however  per- 
verted or  obscure  it  be,  in  the  place  of  utter  delusion., 
whatever  of  classic  attraction  it  may  have.  Oblivion 
has  veiled  her  faults,  if  any  belonged  to  her  intrinsic 
being ;  she  is  left  perfect  to  the  eye  of  posterity,  ex- 
cept it  be  in  her  almost  inevitable  failure  to  assert  at 
all  times,  her  own  manifest  and  better  instincts,  over  those 


54  ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE. 


influences  of  her  life  and  time  whidi  go  far  to  excuse 
the  few  blamable  acts  that  may  be  charged  upon  her. 

And  such  a  picture  of  character,  fair  as  her  own 
lovely  countenance,  is  framed  in  the  most  picturesque 
era  of  modern  history.  The  scenery  and  romantic  as- 
sociations of  Spain,  the  conquest  of  the  splendid  Moor- 
ish kingdom  of  Grenada,  the  gorgeous  evening  of  the 
day  of  chivalry  and  the  morning  of  great  discoveries, 
heralded  by  Columbus,  were  the  fit  setting  for  the 
jewel  of  queens,  or  rather  an  appropriate  scene  for  the 
display  jf  her  noble  qualities.  The  disappointments 
she  endured  in  the  latter  part  of  her  life,  the  cruelties 
of  which  she  was  the  unwitting  or  unwilling  abettor, 
the  bigotry  that  took  advantage  of  her  piety,  and  the 
despotism  established  by  her  husband,  the  artful  Fer- 
dinand, are  the  clouds  that  darken  the  narrative  of  a 
reign,  else  bright  and  beautiful. 

Spain  was  originally  divided  into  four  kingdoms: 
Castile,  Arragon,  Navarre,  and  the  Moorish  possessions, 
the  latter  comprising  the  most  luxuriant  districts  and 
the  most  important  strongholds  upon  the  coast.  Cas- 
tile and  Arragon  were  nearly  alike,  both  governments 
being  monarchial,  yet  in  spirit  republican.  The  king 
had  little  power,  separate  from  the  assembly  or  parlia- 
ment, consisting  of  the  grandees,  nobles  of  the  second 
class,  representatives  of  towns  and  cities,  and  deputies 
of  the  clergy.  This  was  evident  in  the  oath  of  alle- 
giance taken  in  this  form:  "  We,  who  are  each  of  us  as 
good  as  you,  and  altogether  more  powerful  than  you, 
promise  obedience  to  your  government,  if  you  main- 
tain our  rights  and  liberties:  but  not  otherwise  1" 


ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE.  55 


Many  of  the  nobles  were,  in  fact,  petty  kings,  own- 
ing vast  and  populous  territories,  which  yielded  them 
richer  revenues  and  larger  armies  than  the  monarch 
himself  could  command.  The  continual  jealousies  and 
feuds  existing  among  them,  kept  the  kingdom  in  con- 
stant turmoil,  ani  thus  originated  the  confusion,  re- 
volts and  successive  tragedies,  that  darkened  the 
chronicles  of  Castile  and  Arragon,  previous  to  the  ac- 
cession of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella, 

While  John  IE.  occupied  the  Castillian  throne,  his 
subjects  laid  aside  for  a  time  the  ferocious  and  warlike 
spirit  that  had  previously  marked  the  national  charac- 
ter, and  imitated  the  refined  taste  of  their  sovereign, 
whose  love  of  letters  and  utter  disinclination  for  busi- 
ness, induced  him  to  neglect  even  the  most  important 
aifairs  of  the  kingdom,  leaving  all  in  the  hands  of  favor- 
ites, and  often  signing  documents  at  their  option,  with- 
out taking  the  trouble  to  examine  the  contents.  The 
nobles  finally  became  disgusted  with  their  poetizing 
king  and  jealous  of  the  arrogant  favorites  who,  raised 
from  an  humble  origin,  assumed  the  dignity  and  mag- 
nificence of  royalty,  and  presumed  to  direct  the  affairs 
of  the  kingdom.  A  revolt  ensued,  and  Henry,  the 
young  son  of  the  king,  was  placed  at  the  head  of  the 
disaffected  party.  This  storm  was  quelled  at  the  ac- 
cession of  a  new  queen,  a  woman  of  strong  and  reso- 
lute character,  who  obtained  such  ascendency  over  the 
ease-loving  monarch  as  to  cause  the  downfall  and  final 
execution  of  the  principal  and  most  obnoxious  favorite, 
Alvaro  de  Luna. 

John's  regret  for  this  step,  induced  a  raelanclioly 


66  ISABELLA  OF  CASTILE. 


that  aggravated  tlie  disease  which  terminated  his  life 
soon  after.  He  left,  by  his  first  wife,  one  child,  Henry, 
whom  he  appointed  his  successor,  and  guardian  of  the 
two  young  children  by  his  second  wife — Alfonso,  then 
an  infant,  and  Isabella,  afterwards  Queen  of  Castile, 
who  was  born  April  22d,  1451,  at  Madrigal.  She  was 
but  four  years  old  at  the  time  of  her  father's  death,  and 
was  soon  after  removed,  with  her  mother,  to  the  little 
town  of  Aravelo. 

Henry  lY.  was  welcomed  to  the  throne  amidst  un- 
feigned expressions  of  joy  from  a  people  wearied  with 
the  long,  inglorious  reign  of  his  father.  They  hoped 
for  a  vigorous  government,  and  the  prosecution  of  the 
war  against  the  Moors,  which  for  years  had  been  in 
contemplation.  It  required  but  a  short  time,  however, 
to  unfold  the  worthless  character  of  the  new  king,  who, 
without  a  corresponding  taste  for  intellectual  pursuits, 
inherited  all  his  father's  aversion  to  business.  At  once 
indolent,  profligate  and  imbecile,  he  gathered  about 
him  courtiers  who,  like  himself,  sought  only  frivolous 
or  debasing  amusements,  till,  without  shame,  they  in- 
dulged in  open  vice,  boldly  boasting  of  their  exploits. 

The  low  state  of  morals  was  not  improved  after  the 
arrival  of  Joanna  of  Portugal,  whom  Henry  espoused, 
having  repudiated  his  first  wife,  Blanche  of  Arragon, 
after  a  union  of  twelve  years.  The  new  queen  was 
accompanied  by  a  brilliant  suite,  and  her  arrival  was 
signalized  by  the  festivities  and  pageant  due  to  roy- 
alty in  those  days  of  chivalry.  Being  young,  beautiful 
and  vivacious,  she  fascinated  the  Castillians,  and  by  her 
wit  and  raillery,   overcame   the  punctilious   etiquette 


ISABELLA   OF  CASTILE.  57 


observed  at  court.     Her  freedom  of  manner  soon  gave 
rise  to  gross  suspicions. 

Beltran  de  la  Cueva,  one  of  the  handsomest  and 
most  accomplished  cavaliers  of  his  time,  was  designated 
her  favorite,  and  notwithstanding  her  undisguised  pref- 
erence, the  king,  so  far  from  resenting  it,  continued  to 
heap  favors  upon  the  man,  who  previously  had  gained 
such  ascendency  over  him  as  to  guide  the  affairs  of  the 
kingdom,  to  suit  his  own  views  and  interests. 

To  this  polluted,  licentious  court,  Isabella,  in  her 
sixteenth  year,  and  her  brother  Alfonso,  were  brought, 
after  the  birth  of  the  ill-fated  Princess  Joanna.  This 
was  a  matter  of  policy,  as  the  Idng  required  the  oath 
of  allegiance  to  the  infant  Joanna  as  his  successor,  with- 
out regarding  her  supposed  illegitimacy ;  and  fearing 
the  dissatisfied  nobles  would  form  a  separate  faction  in 
favor  of  Isabella,  he  required  her  presence  at  the  royal 
palace. 

All  her  early  life  had  been  spent  in  seclusion  with  her 
mother,  who  faithfully  instructed  her  in  those  lessons 
of  virtue  and  piety,  which  shone  out  so  vividly  in  after 
years.  Her  education  received  a  finish  seldom  attain- 
ed in  that  age ;  her  tastes  were  refined  and  elevated ; 
her  nature  gentle  and  placid ;  and  with  these  womanly 
qualities  she  united  a  maturity  of  judgment,  energy, 
and  firmness,  that  fully  fitted  her  for  the  commanding 
position  she  was  soon  to  take. 

Her  beauty,  gentleness,  and  grace  ensured  her  a 
warm  welcome  at  court,  but  the  sateUites  that  invari- 
ably hasten  to  flutter  about  a  new  star  and  bask  in  its 
rays,  were  soon  overawed  in  her  presence.     The  blame- 


68  ISABELI^  OF   CASTILE. 


less  purity  of  lier  conduct;  her  sincere,  unostentatious 
piety,  and  natural  dignity  of  demeanor,  repelled  famil- 
iarity, while  it  won  the  truest  affection  and  homage  of 
those  "who  surrounded  her.  She  was  one  whose  influ- 
ence roused  all  the  pure,  noble,  and  true  aspirations  of 
the  soul,  and  as  such  she  stood  alone  in  the  royal 
family,  and  far  above  the  contamination  of  its  giddy 
train  of  followers. 

Being  nearly  related  to  the  crown,  her  hand  was 
sought  from  childhood  by  numerous  applicants.  While 
too  young  to  have  a  voice  in  the  decision,  she  was 
solicited  for  the  same  Ferdinand  to  whom  she  was  des- 
tined to  be  finally  united,  and  afterwards  promised  to 
his  brother  Carlos,  whose  tragical  end  defeated  the 
purpose.  In  her  thirteenth  year,  Henry  affianced  her 
to  Alfonso,  King  of  Portugal ;  but  after  an  interview 
with  that  monarch,  neither  entreaties  nor  threats  could 
gain  her  consent  to  a  union  every  way  disagreeable 
to  her.  Knomng  her  refusal  would  avail  her  little, 
she  replied  with  a  discretion,  rare  at  so  early  an  age, 
that  "  the  infantas  of  Castile  could  not  be  disposed  of 
without  the  consent  of  the  nobles  of  the  realm."  The 
chagrined  monarch  was  obliged  to  withdraw  his  suit, 
and  Isabella  still  continued  free. 

Though  Henry  had  not  succeeded  in  disposing  of 
her,  he  felt  secure  in  having  her  under  his  surveillance, 
and  in  order  to  divert  his  discontented  subjects,  he  an- 
nounced a  crusade  against  the  Moors;  he  assumed  the 
device  of  Grenada,  a  pomegranate  branch,  in  token  of 
his  intention  to  enroll  it  among  his  own  provinces ;  and 
he  assembled  the  chivalry  of  the  nation,  and  with  a 


ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE.  59 


splendid  army,  set  out  for  the  Moorisli  dominions. 
This  grand  expedition  ended  only  in  an  empty  displav 
beneath  the  walls  of  Grenada,  which  were  lined  with 
jeering  enemies,  but  with  whom  the  timid  king  would 
not  venture  a  battle,  flying  even  from  the  petty  scenes 
of  action  carried  on  along  the  borders,  unless  detained 
personally  by  the  indignant  knights,  who  burned  to 
retaliate  the  insults  of  the  infidels.  But,  from  all  their 
expostulations  and  reproaches,  the  cowardly  king  took 
shelter  in  the  reply,  that  "  he  prized  the  life  of  one  of 
his  soldiers  more  than  those  of  a  thousand  Mussel- 


men." 


Eepeated  attempts  like  these,  disgusted  the  gallant 
Castillians  and  brought  complaints  from  the  southern 
provinces,  which  were  laid  waste  in  these  continual 
affrays,  and  complained  that  "  the  war  was  carried  on 
against  them  instead  of  the  infidels."  Another  cause 
of  disquietude  arose  from  the  abuses  of  government, 
which  occasioned  almost  a  state  of  bankruptcy.  The 
nobles,  unable  to  obtain  redress,  converted  their  castles 
into  fortresses,  and  with  their  retainers  went  out  upon 
the  highways,  and  robbing  travellers  and  seizing  upon 
their  persons,  sold  them  to  the  Moors,  who  retained 
them  in  slavery,  except  when  redeemed  by  heavy 
ransoms.  These  occurrences  received  no  check  from 
the  imbecile  monarch.  Such  grievances,  together  with 
the  jealousy  of  the  nobility,  in  consequence  of  obscure 
persons  being  elevated  above  the  old  aristocracy  of  the 
kingdom,  and  some  concessions  made  to  Arragon  which 
were  thought  to  compromise  the  honor  of  the  nation, — 
occasioned  a  general  revolt. 


60  ISABELLA   OF   CASTTLTC. 


One  of  the  prominent  leaders  of  the  insurgents  was 
the  Marquis  of  Villena,  the  most  powerful  noble  in 
Castile,  possessing  a  large  and  populous  territory.  He 
was  a  man  of  polished  address  and  unfailing  shrewd- 
ness, but  turbulent,  restless,  and  continually  involving 
the  nation  in  trouble.  The  other  noted  partisan  was 
the  Archbishop  of  Toledo,  a  stern  warrior  and  church- 
man, 

A  confederacy  was  organized,  which,  among  other 
things,  demanded  Alfonso  to  be  recognized  as  Henry's 
successor,  instead  of  Joanna.  Too  indolent  to  adopt 
severe  measures  to  crush  the  rebellion  in  its  beginning, 
he  refased  the  advice  of  his  adherents,  and  yielded  all 
that  was  demanded  of  him.  He  soon  after  retracted 
all  his  agreements,  which  so  incensed  and  disgusted  the 
confederates  that  they  determined  to  defy  his  authority 
and  elect  a  king  for  themselves. 

An  immense  concourse  assembled  in  an  open  plain 
near  the  city  of  Avila,  where  a  scaffold  was  erected, 
and  a  crowned  efi&gy  of  Henry  lY.  was  placed  upon  a 
mock  throne,  arrayed  in  royal  drapery,  with  a  sword, 
sceptre  and  other  insignia  of  royalty  decorating  it.  A 
list  of  grievances  was  then  read,  after  which  the  Mar- 
quis of  Yillena,  and  other  leaders,  despoiled  the  statue 
of  its  kingly  trappings,  and  threw  it  to  the  ground, 
where  it  was  rolled  and  trampled  in  the  dust  by  the  ex- 
cited multitude.  Alfonso,  then  but  eleven  years  of 
age,  was  seated  in  the  chair  of  state,  proclaimed  king, 
and  received  the  homage  of  the  multitude,  amidst  a 
loud  flourish  of  trumpets. 

The  news  of  this  bold  usurpation  threw  the  whole 


ffiABKLLA     OF     CASTILE.  61 


kingdom  into  a  frightful  state  of  excitemont,  sinc"  every 
man  was  obliged  to  choose  his  party.  Old  feuds  were 
revived,  families  divided  one  agaiust  another,  and  all  the 
norrors  of  a  civil  war  threatened  to  devastate  the  land. 
Henry  was  obliged  to  summon  his  forces,  which  were 
strong  enough  to  have  maintained  his  right  to  the 
throne;  but  they  had  no  sooner  assembled  than  he  dis- 
banded them,  and  commenced  negotiations  with  the 
cunning  marquis.  A  cessation  of  hostilities  during  six 
months,  was  agreed  upon,  in  order  to  make  some  ami- 
cable arrangement;  but  Henry's  adherents  were  over- 
whelmed with  indignation  that  he  should  have  forsaken 
his  own  cause.  Had  a  humane  spirit  dictated  his 
course,  he  might  have  been  honored,  but  the  weakness 
and  cowardice  plainly  evinced  in  all  his  movements, 
made  him  despicable  in  the  eyes  of  his  subjects,  and 
the  jest  of  his  enemies,  in  an  age  when  the  laws  of 
chivalry  demanded  redress  for  the  slightest  affront. 

The  two  parties  maintained  their  separate  sovereigns 
with  their  respective  courts,  each  enacting  laws,  as  if 
the  other  was  not  in  existence.  It  was  plainly  seen 
that  peace  could  not  be  long  preserved  while  they  were 
thus  playing  at  cross  purposes;  but  the  ready  Marquis 
of  Villeua  devised  a  scheme  whicii  should  conciliate 
all  parties  and  secure  his  own  aggrandizement. 

He  proposed  the  marriage  of  his  brother,  Don  Pedro 
de  Pacheco,  grand-master  of  Calatrava,  a  promiueut 
member  of  the  new  party,  with  Isabella.  To  this  the 
feeble  king  assented,  though  the  project  was  strongly 
opposed  by  Isa'jella,  who  considered  it  not  only  de- 
grading to  her   rank,   but  bore   a   personal   dislike   to 


62  ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE. 


Pacheco.  He  was  many  years  lier  senior,  of  dissolute 
habits,  was  a  fierce  and  noisy  leader  of  faction,  and  in 
every  respect  unfitted  to  appreciate  Isabella's  lofty 
character. 

Her  opposition  availed  her  nothing,  however,  and 
not  knowing  whither  to  turn  for  escape  from  the  hate- 
ful marriage,  she  shut  herself  in  her  own  apartments, 
praying  and  fasting  for  a  day  and  night.  When  weep- 
ing under  the  tyranny  her  heartless  brother  imposed, 
and  bewaihng  her  fate  to  a  faithful,  courageous  friend, 
Beatriz  de  Bobadilla,  the  latter  exclaimed,  "  God  will 
not  permit  it,  neither  will  I, "  and  drawing  forth  a  gleam- 
ing dagger  she  wore  concealed  upon  her  person,  pas- 
sionately vowed  to  strike  Don  Pedro  to  the  heart,  if  he 
dared  to  drag  her  to  the  altar. 

Magnificent  preparations  went  on  for  the  celebration 
of  the  nuptials.  The  master  of  Calatrava  had  obtained 
a  dispensation  from  the  pope,  releasing  him  from  the 
vows  of  celibacy,  and  exultingly  devised  the  most  ex- 
travagant display  for  an  occasion  which  was  to  bestow 
upon  his  fortunate  self  the  hand  of  a  beautiful  and 
distinguished  princess,  nearly  related  to  the  crown. 
Already  he  saw  himself  a  king.  Elated  with  the  pros- 
pect, and  quite  insensible  to  the  unwillingness  of  the 
bride-elect,  he  set  out  from  his  residence  with  an  im 
posing  and  showy  retinue,  for  Madrid,  where  the  cere- 
mony was  to  be  performed. 

On  his  way  thither,  however,  he  was  seized  with  a 
fatal  illness,  and  died  with  frightful  imprecations  on  his 
lips,  because  his  life  had  not  been  spared  till  the  goal 
of  his  ambition  had  been  reached.     His  death  was  by 


ISABPJLLA    OF   CASTILE.  68 


some  attributed  to  poison,  though  no  one  cast  the 
slightest  imputation  on  Isabella,  whose  well-known  pu- 
rity and  uprightness  placed  her  above  suspicion. 

Don  Pedro's  death  dissipated  all  the  fine  schemes  for 
the  reconciliation  of  the  parties,  and  it  was  soon  deter 
mined  to  decide  the  contest  by  a  battle.  The  two 
armies  met  at  Olmedo.  The  royal  adherents  greatly 
outnumbered  the  confederates,  but  the  latter  made  up 
in  enthusiasm  and  spirit  what  they  lacked  in  numbers. 
Alfonso's  army  was  led  by  the  Archbishop  of  Toledo, 
conspicuously  arrayed  in  a  scarlet  mantle,  embroidered 
with  a  white  cross,  beneath  which  he  wore  a  complete 
suit  of  armor.  The  prince,  also  clad  in  mail,  rode  at 
his  side.  Before  the  battle  commenced,  the  archbishop 
sent  a  message  to  Beltran  de  la  Cueva,  advising  him  not 
to  appear  in  the  field,  as  a  score  of  knights  had  vowed 
his  death.  He  returned  a  defiant  answer,  minutely  de- 
scribing the  dress  he  was  to  wear  on  the  occasion,  which 
cost  him  many  a  sharp  struggle  during  the  day. 

Henry  took  great  care  to  avoid  a  dangerous  prox- 
imity to  the  scene  of  blood  and  death,  and  upon  the 
first  announcement  of  the  enemy's  victory,  which 
proved  to  be  a  false  alarm,  he  fled  in  dismay  with  forty 
attendants,  to  a  near  village  for  safety,  leaving  his 
friends  to  fight  as  best  they  might.  The  battle  ceased 
only  when  darkness  separated  the  combatants,  nothing 
being  gained  on  either  side.  The  insurgents,  however, 
occupied  the  city  of  Segovia,  where  Isabella  repaired 
after  the  battle,  and  during  the  succeeding  months  of 
anarchy  and  bloodshed,  remained  under  Alfonso's  pro- 
tection. 


64  ISABELLA  OF  CASTILK 


The  struggle  finally  ceased  at  the  death  of  Alfonso, 
who,  after  a  short  and  sudden  illness,  expired  the  5th 
of  July,  1468,  at  a  little  village  near  Avila,  the  scene 
of  his  proclaimed  sovereignty  two  years  before.  His 
loss  was  deeply  deplored,  as  he  gave  promise  of  un- 
usual talent,  and  possessed  a  nobleness  of  sentiment 
that  might  have  made  him  a  just  and  great  king.  His 
death  was  ascribed  by  many  to  poison,  and  by  others  to 
the  plague,  which  united  its  unsparing  scythe  to  the  char- 
iot of  war  that  wheeled  right  and  left,  over  fair  Castile. 

Isabella  immediately  retired  to  a  monastery,  at  Avila, 
but  the  alarmed  confederacy  looked  to  her  as  its  head, 
and  unanimously  delegated  the  Archbishop  of  Toledo  to 
offer  her  the  crown  of  Castile  and  Leon,  promising  her 
their  support.  Notwithstanding  the  primate's  eloquent 
entreaties,  she  firmly  refused  the  honor,  replying  mag- 
nanimously that,  "  while  her  brother  Henry  lived,  none 
other  had  a  right  to  the  crown ;  that  the  country  had 
been  divided  long  enough  under  the  rule  of  two  con- 
tending monarchs;  and  that  the  death  of  Alfonso 
might  perhaps  be  interpreted  into  an  indication  from 
Heaven  of  its  disapprobation  of  their  cause." 

The  inhabitants  of  Seville  and  other  cities,  pro- 
claimed her  their  queen,  and  continued  to  send  depu- 
ties to  gain  her  consent  to  adopt  their  cause ;  but  her 
immovable  decision  obliged  the  confederates  to  open 
negotiations  with  the  ruhng  sovereign,  which  ended  in 
a  treaty,  many  of  the  articles  whereof  were  degrading 
to  him  as  a  man  and  as  a  king.  He  declared  Joanna 
illegitimate,  and  accepted  Isabella  as  his  heir  and  sue- 
ceasor. 


ISABELLA    OF   CASTILE.  65 


An  interview  took  place  between  Henry  and  Isabella 
at  Tores  de  Guisando,  each  accompanied  by  a  bridiant 
suite,  when  the  king  affectionately  embraced  his  sister 
and  publicly  announced  her  as  successor  to  the  throne 
this  was  followed  by  an  oath  of  allegiance  from  the 
assembled  grandees,  who,  in  token  of  their  faithfulness, 
knelt  and  kissed  the  hand  of  the  princess.  Isabella 
took  up  her  residence  at  Ocana,  where  she  enjoyed 
comparative  quiet  in  the  peace  and  prosperity  once 
more  restored  to  the  distracted  kingdom.  Suitors  ap- 
peared with  redoubled  assiduity,  now  that  her  succes- 
sion to  the  crown  was  established.  Among  them  was 
a  brother  of  Edward  IV.  of  England,  and  the  Duke  of 
Guienne,  brother  of  the  French  king  and  heir-apparent 
to  the  throne.  Isabella's  choice  hesitated  between  the 
latter  and  Ferdinand  of  Arragon,  though  her  decision 
was  influenced  by  a  personal  preference  as  well  as  by 
the  interests  of  the  kingdom.  France  was  distant  from 
Castile,  and  the  customs,  language  and  manners  of  the 
people  widely  differed,  while  Arragon  was  closely  aUied 
to  Castile  in  every  respect.  Aside  from  this,  Ferdinand 
greatly  exceeded  the  duke  in  personal  appearance  and 
accomplishments,  which  enlisted  Isabella's  favor. 

In  this  decision  she  was  fiercely  opposed  by  a  party 
who  bad  retired  in  disgust  at  Henry's  repudiation  ol' 
Joanna,  and  headed  by  the  malicious  Marquis  of  Vil- 
lena,  formed  a  new  faction  in  favor  of  the  v-'iscarded 
heir.  In  Isabella's  marriage  with  Ferdinand,  \he  mar- 
quis saw  his  own  downfall,  and,  Avith  the  hope  of  frus- 
trating her  intentions,  regained  his  power  over  her 
guardian,  the  king,  and  induced  him  to  suggest  to  Al- 
5    ^ 


66  ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE, 


fonso  of  Portugal  the  renewal  of  his  former  addresses 
more  publicly. 

The  Kiug  of  Portugal  gladly  acceded,  and  sent  a 
pompous  and  magnificent  embassy  to  Isabella  at  Ocana. 
She  peremptorily  declined  the  honor,  which  so  incensed 
Henry,  that,  urged  on  by  the  cunning  marquis,  he 
threatened  her  with  imprisonment  in  the  royal  fortress 
at  Madrid,  if  she  did  not  see  fit  to  acquiesce  in  the 
choice  he  had  made  for  her.  Such  menaces  did  not 
intimidate  her,  as  the  inhabitants  of  Ocana  were  devo- 
tedly attached  to  her  and  approved  of  the  Arragonese 
match,  making  known  their  approbation  by  singing 
ballads  in  the  streets,  that  derided  Alfonso  and  com- 
pared his  age  and  defects  to  Ferdinand's  youth,  beauty 
and  chivalry.  She  also  had  the  promised  support  of 
the  Archbishop  of  Toledo,  who  was  warmly  attached 
to  her  interests,  olfering  to  come  in  person,  at  the  head 
of  a  sufficient  force  to  protect  her,  if  violent  measures 
were  resorted  to. 

Notwithstanding  a  provision  in  the  treaty  which  re- 
quired her  to  consult  Henry  as  to  hc^r  marriage,  she 
determined  no  longer  to  regard  his  wishes,  since  he 
had  violated  almost  every  article  himself  Without 
farther  hesitation,  she  took  the  opportunity  of  his  ab- 
sence in  the  southern  provinces  to  quell  an  insurrec- 
tion, to  send  an  envoy  to  Arragon,  accepting  Ferdi- 
nand's suit.  While  awaiting  the  result  she  repaired  to 
Madrigal,  remaining  with  her  mother  for  greater  secu- 
rity. This  proved  a  disadvantage,  as  she  found  there 
the  Bishop  of  Burgos,  i\  nephew  of  the  Marquis  of  Vil- 
lena,  who  acted  as  a  spy  upon  all  her  movements,  cor- 


ISABELLA    OF    CASTILE.  07 


rupted  her  servants,  ferreted  out  her  designs,  and  ftiith- 
fully  reported  the  particulars  to  Henry  and  the  niarquis. 
They  became  alarme.d  at  her  daring  step,  and  at  once 
niade  preparations  to  put  their  threat  in  execution. 

By  an  order  from  the  king,  the  iVrchbishop  of  Se- 
ville was  directed  to  proceed  to  Madrigal  with  a  suf- 
licient  force  to  secure  Isabella;  and  the  inhabitants 
were  warned  not  to  attempt  her  defence.  They  en- 
treated her  to  fly,  and  succeeded  in  informing  the 
Archbishop  of  Toledo  of  her  danger.  He  promptly 
placed  himself  at  the  head  of  a  body  of  horse,  pro- 
ceeded to  Madrigal  with  such  speed  as  to  arrive  before 
her  enemies,  and  gallantly  carried  her  off  in  the  verv 
face  of  the  Bishop  of  Burgos  and  his  guard.  She  v/sa 
thus  escorted  to  the  city  of  Valladolid,  where  the  in 
habitants  greeted  her  with  hearty  enthusiasm.  Soon 
after  her  arrival  a  despatch  was  sent  to  Ferdinand  t* 
expedite  matters  during  the  king's  absence. 

John  of  Arragon  had  received  the  favorable  answer 
to  his  son's  suit  with  the  greatest  satisfaction,  as  it  had 
long  been  his  favorite  scheme  to  consolidate  the  prov- 
inces of  Spain  under  one  head.  The  marriage  articles 
had  been  signed,  the  most  pleasing  of  which  to  the 
Castillians  was  that  Ferdinand  should  reside  in  Castile, 
and  the  "  essential  rights  of  sovereignty  over  that  king- 
dom should  be  relinquished  to  his  consort." 

But  the  arrival  of  the  princess'  messengers  with  the 
information  of  the  necessity  of  hasty  measures,  embar 
rassed  the  King  of  Arragon,  whose  treasury  was  ex 
hausted  by  a  war  with  the  Catalans,  leaving  him  with- 
out  means  to  provide  Ferdinand  with  a  suiuble  escort 


68  ISABELLA    OF    CASTILE. 


or  to  support  the  expense  attending  a  royal  marriage. 
After  much  deliberation  it  was  decided  tbat  the  prince 
should  go,  in  the  disguise  of  a  servant  to  a  pretended 
company  of  merchants,  while,  to  divert  the  attention 
of  the  Castillians,  a  showy  embassy  should  proceed  by 
another  route.  This  stratagem  succeeded.  The  dis- 
tance to  be  traversed  was  short,  but  the  country  was 
patrolled  by  troops  to  intercept  them,  and  the  frontiers 
were  guarded  by  strong  fortified  castles.  They  trav- 
elled at  night,  Ferdinand  performing  all  the  offices  of 
a  servant,  till  they  reached  the  friendly  castle  of  the 
Count  of  TreviSo,  from  which  a  well-armed  escort  ac- 
companied them  to  Duenas  in  Leon.  Here  he  was 
welcomed  by  a  throng  of  nobles,  and  the  joyful  intelli- 
gence of  his  safe  arrival  sent  to  Isabella.  The  follow- 
ing evening  he  went  secretly  to  Valladolid,  accompa- 
nied bv  a  few  persons;  he  was  warmly  received  by 
the  Archbishop  of  Toledo,  who  conducted  him  to  the 
princess,  at  the  palace  of  John  Vivero,  where  she  with 
her  little  court  resided. 

"  Ferdinand  was  at  this  time  in  his  eighteenth  year. 
His  complexion  was  fair,  though  somewhat  bronzed  by 
constant  exposure  to  the  sun  ;  his  eyes  quick  and 
cl  eerful ;  his  forehead  ample  and  approaching  to  bald- 
ness. His  muscular  and  well-proportioned  frame  was 
invigorated  by  the  toils  of  war,  and  by  the  chivalrous 
exercises  in  which  he  delighted.  He  was  one  of  the 
best  horsemen  in  his  court,  and  excelled  in  field  sports 
of  every  kind.  His  voice  was  somewhat  sharp,  but  he 
possessed  a  fluent  eloquence ;  and  when  he  had  a  point 
to  carry,  his  address  was  courteous  and  insinuating." 


ISABELLA    OF   CASTILE.  69 


"  Isabella  was  a  year  older  tlian  he.  She  was  well 
formed,  of  the  middle  size,  with  great  dignity  and 
gracefulness  of  deportment;  a  mingled  gravity  and 
sweetness  of  demeanor;  confiding  and  affectionate.  Her 
complexion  was  fair ;  her  hair  auburn,  inclining  to  red- 
ness ;  her  eyes  of  a  clear  blue,  with  a  benign  expres- 
sion ;  and  there  was  a  singular  modesty  in  her  counte- 
nance, gracing  as  it  did  a  wonderful  firmness  of  pur- 
pose and  earnestness  of  spirit." 

The  interview  lasted  two  hours,  full  of  interest  and 
mutual  admiration,  sealing  the  marriage  contract  with 
a  love  that  rarely  unites  royal  hearts,  denied  the  free 
choice  that  blesses  lower  rank.  Arrangements  were 
made  for  the  celebration  of  the  nuptials,  but  both 
parties  were  so  poor  as  to  be  obliged  to  borrow  money 
to  defray  the  expenses  of  the  occasion.  The  ceremon;^ 
took  place  on  the  morning  of  October  19th,  1469,  at 
the  palace,  and  in  presence  of  a  large  assemblage  of 
noblemen  and  dignitaric-  A  week  of  festive  rejoic- 
ings followed,  and,  at  its  expiration,  the  newly-married 
pair  publicly  attended  mass  at  one  of  the  churches,  as 
was  the  custom. 

Their  first  step  had  been  to  inform  the  king  of  their 
union  and  loyal  submission.  He  coldly  received  their 
tardy  seeking  of  his  approbation,  and  rephed  that  he 
"should  consult  his  ministers."  The  Marquis  of  Vil- 
lena,  who  had  now  attained  the  dignity  of  grand  mas- 
ter of  St.  James,  chagrined  at  the  failure  of  his  schemes, 
quickly  concocted  new  ones  that  put  all  Castile  in  fer- 
ment. He  counselled  Henry  to  again  institute  Joanna 
his  successor,  which  advice  was  the  more  readily  ac- 


70  ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE. 


cepted  since  an  embass3r  had  just  arrived  from  the 
King  of  France,  proposing  the  Duke  of  Guienne, 
Isabella's  disappointed  suitor,  for  his  daughter's  hand. 
An  interview  took  place  between  the  Castillian  mon- 
arch and  the  French  ambassadors,  during  which  a 
proclamation  was  read,  condemning  Isabella's  violation 
of  the  treaty  by  her  unapproved  marriage,  and  reinstat- 
ing Joanna  in  her  former  rights.  The  nobles  took  the 
oath  of  allegiance,  and  the  young  princess  was  formally 
affianced  to  the  Duke  of  Guienne. 

Ferdinand  and  his  consort,  now  almost  forsaken  by 
die  same  ones  who  a  short  time  before  had  warmly 
♦spoused  their  cause,  remained  quietly  at  Duefias,  sur- 
•ounded  by  an  unostentatious  court,  and  so  poor  they 
■Duld  scarcely  support  the  expenses  of  their  frugal 
;able.  Henry's  court,  on  the  contrary,  exhibited  a 
Tivolous  and  corrupt  abandonment;  himself  the  spec- 
tacle of  a  king  completely  under  the  guidance  of  rapa- 
cious and  profligate  councillors  ;  and  his  dominion  the 
scene  of  continued  warfare  and  crime,  carried  on  with 
impunity  under  the  very  eyes  of  Castile's  incapable 
monarch. 

At  this  crisis,  and  when  Ferdinand's  presence  waa 
most  needed  to  inspire  the  remaining  adherents  with 
courage,  he  was  summoned  to  the  assistance  of  his 
father,  who.  at  war  Avith  France,  was  perilously  be- 
sieged in  the  city  of  Perpignan.  With  Isabella's  ap- 
probation, Ferdinand  led  a  body  of  horse  furnished  by 
the  Archbishop  of  Toledo,  into  Arragon,  where  he  re- 
ceived reinforcements  from  tlie  nobility  wf  that  king- 
'iom.     With  this  array  he  suddenly  appeared  before 


ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE.  71 


the  surprised  enemy,  who  abandoned  the  siege  in  dis- 
may. John,  with  the  remnant  of  his  troops,  went  out 
to  meet  his  son  and  dehverer,  whom  he  embraced  with 
affecting  gratitude,  in  the  presence  of  the  two  armies. 

During  this  absence  several  events  favored  Isabella's 
fortune.  The  Archbishop  of  Seville,  a  powerful  man 
in  position  and  character,  observing  the  marked  con- 
trast between  the  courts  of  the  king  and  princess,  and 
won  by  the  superior. decorum  of  the  latter,  justly  con- 
cluded, Castile  would  attain  a  greater  degree  of  pros- 
perity under  her  firm  administration,  than  it  could 
ever  reach  in  the  reign  of  her  weak-minded  rival,  who, 
like  her  father,  was  entirely  controlled  by  those  around 
him.  Influenced  by  such  considerations,  the  arch- 
bishop revolutionized  his  interest  and  fortune  in  Isabel- 
la's favor. 

Anotlier  important  accession  to  her  party,  was  one 
of  the  king's  officers,  Andres  de  Cabrera,  who  con- 
trolled the  royal  coffers.  Partly  influenced  by  hatred 
towards  the  grand-master  of  St.  James,  and  more  by 
the  urgent  importunities  of  his  wife,  Beatriz  de  Boba- 
dilla,  Isabella's  early  friend,  he  opened  a  secret  cor- 
respondence with  the  princess,  advising  her  to  have  an 
interview  with  her  brother.  To  assure  her  of  his 
friendly  motiyes,  he  sent  his  wife,  who  performed 
the  journey  in  the  disguise  of  a  peasant,  and,  thus 
unsuspected,  reached  Duenas,  gained  access  to  the 
apartments  of  her  royal  friend,  and  induced  her  to  at- 
tempt a  reconciliation  with  the  king.  With  this  cer- 
tainty of  protection  from  Cabrera  and  his  friends, 
Isabella  wilHngly  set  out  for  Saragossa,  where  Henry 


72  ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE. 


usually  resided.  An  interview  took  place  that  resultea 
in  a  good  understanding ;  and,  to  give  public  proof  of 
it,  the  king  led  her  palfrey  through  the  streets  of  the 
city.  Grand  fetes  were  given  to  express  the  universal 
joy  at  the  event.  While  these  rejoicings  were  in  pro- 
gress, Ferdinand  returned  to  Castile  and  hastened  to 
Saragossa,  where  he  was  warmly  welcomed  by  his 
sovereign. 

This  happy  reconciliation  did  .not  suit  the  designs 
of  the  plotting  favorite,  who  took  the  first  occasion  to 
crush  these  germs  of  peace.  After  a  splendid  enter- 
tainment given  by  Cabrera,  Henry  was  taken  violently 
ill.  Ever  ready  to  listen  to  his  crafty  minister's  sug- 
gestions, he  attributed  to  poison  the  result  of  his  own 
excesses,  and  immediately  issued  secret  orders  for 
Isabella's  arrest.  The  vigilance  of  her  friends  saved 
her,  and  she  returned  to  Duenas  in  disgust. 

Ferdinand  was  again  called  to  his  father's  succor. 
In  the  meantime  events  thickened  towards  the  con- 
summation of  his  consort's  power.  The  death  of  the 
Duke  of  Guienne,  in  France,  dampened  the  hopes  of 
the  opposing  party  for  Joanna,  more  especially  since 
the  alliance  had  been  declined  by  several  princes,  owing 
to  her  alleged  illegitimacy.  Shortly  after,  Henry  was 
deprived  of  his  supporter  and  adviser,  by  the  death  of 
the  grand-master  of  St.  James ;  this  was  an  occasion 
of  more  jo}^  than  grief  to  tlie  Castilians,  who  were  now 
delivered  from  the  cause  of  nearly  all  the  evils  that  for 
years  had  banished  peace  from  the  kingdom.  To  the 
monarch  it  was  an  irreparable  loss,  occasioning  an  anx- 
iety and  melancholy  that  hastened  the  progress  of  a 


ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE.  73 


disease  which  for  some  time  had  threatened  his  life. 
Undecided  in  matters  of  moment,  to  the  last,  he  died 
December  11th,  1474,  unlamented,  without  a  will,  and 
without  naming  his  successor. 

The  following  morning,  Isabella,  who  was  at  Sego- 
via, desired  the  inhabitants  of  that  city  to  proclaim  her 
sovereignty,  resting  her  claims  to  the  crown  upon  the 
fact  tliat  the  cortes  had  never  revoked  the  act  which  ap- 
pointed her  Henry's  successor,  although  twice  summoned 
by  him  to  give  allegiance  to  Joanna.  An  assemblage 
of  the  chief  grandees,  nobles  and  dignitaries,  in  robes 
of  office,  gathered  at  the  castle,  and,  receiving  Isabella 
under  a  canopy  of  rich  brocade,  conducted  her  to  the 
public  square  ;  two  of  the  chief  citizens  led  the  Span- 
ish jennet  she  rode,  preceded  by  an  officer  on  horse- 
back who  upheld  a  naked  sword,  the  symbol  of  sov- 
ereignty. A  platform  had  been  erected  and  a  throne 
placed  upon  it,  which  Isabella  occupied  with  graceful 
dignity,  while  a  herald  proclaimed,  "  Castile,  Castile 
for  the  King  Don  Ferdinand  and  his  consort  Dona  Isa- 
bella, queen  proprietor  of  these  kingdoms  !" 

The  royal  standard  was  then  unfurled,  and  the  peal 
of  bells  and  sound  of  cannon  announced  the  recogni- 
zance of  the  new  queen.  The  procession  then  moved 
to  the  principal  cathedral,  where,  after  the  solemn 
chanting  of  the  Te  Deum,  Isabella  devoutly  prostrated 
herself  before  the  altar  and  invoked  the  protection  and 
guidance  of  the  Almighty.  Immediately  after  the 
coronation,  deputies  from  various  cities  tendered  their 
allegiance  and  raised  the  new  standard  upon  their  walls. 

Ferdinand  was  still  nhs'^nt,  but  on  his  return  he  ex- 


74  ISABELLA   OF   CASTILh;. 


hibited  great  dissatisfaction  with  the  investment  of  su- 
preme authority  in  his  consort.  With  unyielding 
firmness  and  winning  gentleness,  she  maintained  her 
right,  convincing,  and  at  the  same  time,  with  womanly 
tact,  soothing  her  offended  husband,  by  mild,  just  rea- 
soning; assuring  him  their  interests  were  indivisible; 
that  the  division  of  power  was  but  nominal ;  and  that 
the  interest  of  their  only  child,  a  daughter,  demanded 
it,  as  she  could  not  inherit  the  crown  if  females  were 
excluded  from  the  succession  ; — this  was  one  of  his 
grounds  of  contention,  since  he  himself  was  a  distant 
heir  of  the  Castilian  crown. 

It  was  satisfactorily  decided,  however,  "that  all  ap- 
pointments were  to  be  made  in  the  name  of  both,  with 
the  advice  and  consent  of  the  queen.  The  command- 
ers of  fortified  places  were  to  render  homage  to  her 
alone.  Justice  was  to  be  administered  by  both  con- 
jointly when  residing  in  the  same  place,  and  independ- 
ently when  separate.  Proclamations  and  letters  patent 
were  to  be  subscribed  with  the  signatures  of  both ; 
their  images  were  to  be  stamped  on  the  public  coin, 
and  the  united  arms  of  Castile  and  Arragon  embla- 
zoned on  a  common  seal." 

The  succession  was  not  yet  peacefully  established. 
Joanna's  party  still  contended  for  the  crown.  Among 
her  prominent  supporters  was  the  young  Marquis  of 
Villena,  who  inherited  his  father's  titles  and  estates, 
but  not  his  crafty,  intriguing  character.  The  Arch- 
bishop of  Toledo,  offended  with  the  proclaimed  queen 
because  he  was  not  solely  consulted  by  her,  and  jealous 
of  the  rising  importance  of  Cardinal  Mendoza,  sudden- 


ISABELLA    OF   CASTII.E.  75 


ly  withdrew  from  co\irt.  He  shortly  after  openly  es- 
poused the  cause  of  the  unfortnii.ite  p'-incess  whom  he 
had  so  long  and  successfully  opposed.  He  would  not 
be  conciliated  by  any  advances  from  Ferdinand  and 
Isabella,  who,  as  far  as  possible,  without  compromising 
their  dignity,  sought  to  regain  his  friendship. 

Propositions  were  now  made  by  the  rebellious  party 
to  Alfonso  Y.  of  Portugal,  to  espouse  Joanna  and  assist 
in  asserting  her  claims.  To  this  he  readily  agreed. 
He  assembled  an  army  which  comprised  the  flower  of 
the  Portuguese  nobility,  eager  to  engage  in  an  expedi- 
tion that  promised  them  glory  in  the  chivalrous  defence 
of  an  injured  princess.  Advancing  into  Castile,  they 
were  met  by  the  Duke  of  Arevalo  and  the  Marquis  of 
Villena,  who  presented  the  king  to  his  future  bride. 
They  were  publicly  aflBianced  and  proclaimed  King  and 
Queen  of  Castile.  A  week  of  festivities  followed,  after 
which  the  army  quietly  awaited  reinforcements  from 
the  Castilians.  During  this  delay,  Ferdinand  and  Isa- 
bella, who,  on  the  first  arrival  of  the  invaders,  possessed 
but  a  scanty  army,  put  forth  indefatigable  exertions  to 
strengthen  their  forces.  Isabella  frequently  sat  up  the 
whole  night  dictating  despatches  ;  she  visited  in  person, 
on  horseback,  the  several  cities  that  had  delayed  alle 
giance,  thus  succeeding  in  rallying  an  army  of  forty-two 
thousand  men,  well  equipped.  On  one  of  her  journeys, 
she  sent  a  message  to  the  archbishop,  notifying  him  of 
ai:  intended  visit  in  hope  of  reconciliation,  to  which  he 
ii  pudently  replied,  that  "if  the  queen  enteied  by  one 
f^   3r  he  would  go  out  at  the  other." 

A.S  soon  as  such  prepHrntions  as  could  be  rapidlv 


7(J  ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE. 


made,  were  completed,  the  array  set  out  for  the  city  ui 
Toro,  of  which  Alfonso  had  taken  possession.  Una- 
ble to  engage  the  Portuguese  in  battle,  Ferdinand  laid 
siege  to  the  city  ;  but  owing  to  a  want  of  proper  bat- 
tering artillery,  and  the  cutting  off  of  supplies  by  the 
enemy,  who  occupied  the  neighboring  fortresses,  he 
was  obliged  to  withdraw  his  forces.  An  inglorious  and 
confused  retreat  followed.  The  army  was  disbanded; 
scattering  to  their  homes  or  strengthening  the  gar- 
risons of  friendly  cities.  The  Archbishop  of  Toledo  ex- 
ulted at  this  ominous  opening  of  the  war  on  the  part 
of  the  king,  and  no  longer  hesitated  to  join  the  enemy 
with  all  the  forces  under  his  command,  haughtily  boast- 
ing that  "  he  had  raised  Isabella  from  the  distaff,  and 
would  soon  send  her  back  to  it  again." 

Tidings  from  Portugal  of  an  invasion,  caused  the  de- 
tachment of  so  large  a  portion  of  Alfonso's  army  as  to 
cripple  his  operations,  obliging  him  to  remain  in  Toro 
without  any  aggressive  movements.  The  king  and 
queen  in  the  meantime  gathered  a  new  army  and  pro- 
ceeded to  besiege  Zamora.  That  being  an  important 
post  to  the  enemy,  Alfonso  abandoned  Toro,  and  with 
reinforcements  from  Portugal,  headed  by  his  son  Prince 
John,  went  to  its  relief.  A  battle  ensued,  in  which  the 
Portuguese  were  completely  routed  and  would  have 
been  nearly  all  put  to  the  sword  but  for  the  friendly 
darkness  that  enabled  many  in  extremity  to  give  the 
Castihan  war-cry  of  "  St.  James  and  St.  Lazarus,"  and 
thus  escape  their  confused  pursuers.  Many  of  the  troops 
were  massacred  in  attempting  to  fly  to  the  frontiers  of 
their  own  country.     This  cruelty  was  rebuked  by  Fer- 


ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE.  77 


dinaiid,  wlio  not  only  ordered  their  safe  conduct,  but 
provided  many  of  them  witli  clcjthing,  who  were 
brought  prisoners  in  a  state  of  destitution  and  suffer- 
ing,    lie  })ermitted  them  to  return  safely  to  their  homes. 

Isabella,  upon  hearing  of  this  decisive  victory,  com- 
manded the  people  to  go  in  procession  to  the  church 
of  St.  Paul,  humbly  walking  barefoot  herself  to  the 
cathedral,  where  thanksgiving  was  offered,  to  God  for 
the  success  he  had  vouchsafed  them. 

Complete  submission  followed,  except  from  the  Mar- 
quis of  Villena  and  the  imperious  archbishop,  who  main- 
tained their  rebellious  manoeuvres  till  the  demolition  of 
their  castles  and  the  desertion  of  their  retainers,  obliged 
them  to  yield.  Alfonso  retreated  into  Portugal  with 
Joanna,  but  mortified  with  his  defeat,  applied  to  the 
King  of  France  to  assist  him  in  securing  the  crown  of 
Castile  for  the  Princess  Joanna ;  he  remained  nearly  a 
year  in  France  for  that  purpose.  Louis  promised  as- 
sistance when  Alfonso's  title  was  secured  by  a  dispen- 
sation from  the  pope  for  his  marriage  with  Joanna. 
To  his  entire  chagrin,  he  found  that  Louis  was  already 
negotiating  with  his  rivals,  and,  overwhelmed  with 
mortification  at  having  been  duped  before  all  the  world, 
he  retired  to  an  obscure  village  in  Normandy,  and 
wrote  Prince  John  of  his  wish  to  resign  his  crown  and 
enter  a  monastery.  His  retreat  was  discovered,  and  at 
last  persuaded  by  the  urgent  entreaties  of  his  follow- 
ers, he  returned  to  Portugal,  arriving  just  after  his 
son's  coronation.  This  caused  him  additional  chagrin. 
John,  however,  immediately  resigned  his  premature 
dignity,  on  his  father's  reappearance. 


78  ISABELLA    OF   CASTILE. 


A  treaty  was  soon  after  confirmed  with  Castile  which 
obliged  Alfonso  to  resign  all  claims  to  the  hand  of 
Joanna,  and  imposed  upon  her  the  necessity  of  taking 
the  veil,  or  wedding  Don  Juan  tlie  infant  sou  of  Ferdi- 
nand and  Isabella,  when  he  should  arrive  at  a  suitable 
age.  Wearied  and  disgusted  with  worldly  ambition, 
forsaken  by  her  relatives,  successively  afiianced  to 
princes,  who  one  after  anotlier  rejected  her  at  every 
reverse  of  fortune,  and  at  last  offered  a  consort  still  in 
the  cradle,  with  the  alternative  of  becoming  a  nun,  she 
chose  the  latter,  as  at  least  a  means  of  releasing  her 
from  a  position  whi^-h  made  her  the  foot-ball  of  oppos* 
ing  parties. 

Alfonso  was  so  much  disappointed  at  the  loss  of  his 
bride,  that  he  determined  to  put  his  former  threat  of 
entering  a  monastery  in  execution.  The  one  he  fixed 
upon  was  situated  in  a  lonely  spot  on  the  shores  of  the 
Atlantic,  but  the  realization  of  this  quixotic  fancy  was 
prevented  by  his  death,  shortly  after  Joanna  took  the 
veil. 

The  same  year,  1479,  chronicled  the  death  of  John 
of  Arragon,  thus  bequeathing  an  independent  crown 
to  Ferdinand.  This  event  strengthened  the  security 
ui'  Castile,  and  cemented  the  various  provinces  into  a 
whole  that  was  soon  to  stand  foremost  among  nations. 

When  tranquillity  was  at  last  restored  to  a  people 
who  for  years  had  suffered  the  disasters  of  war,  one 
would  suppose  they  would  willingly  have  been  cradled 
in  the  arms  of  peace  and  prosperity  ;  but  the  restless, 
turbulent  spirit  of  the  times,  required  a  channel  for  iis 
resistless  flood,  that  would  otherwise  undermine  the 


ISABELLA    OV   CASTILE.  79 


foundations  of  a  throne  slowly  gaining  steadiness  and 
solidity  after  its  long  rocking. 

The  ambition  of  the  chivalry  of  Spain  was  enthusi- 
astically directed  towards  the  prosecution  of  the  war 
against  the  Moors,  while  the  zealous  clergy  were  ab- 
sorbed in  the  new  project  of  establishing  the  Inquisi- 
tion in  these  dominions,  rapidly  becoming  powerful. 
The  Jews,  who  were  a  numerous,  wealthy  and  impor- 
tant class,  had  incurred  the  hatred  of  the  Castilians, 
both  on  account  of  their  heretical  belief,  and  because 
of  the  almost  irretrievable  indebtedness  of  a  large  share 
of  the  nobility  to  these  money-lenders.  Since  the 
avowed  purpose  of  the  Inquisition  was  the  conversion 
or  condemnation  of  this  unfortunate  people,  both  the 
Castilians  and  Arragonese  submitted  to  its  otherwise 
detested  establishment,  hoping  thus  to  escape  their  ex- 
tensive liabilities;  not  foreseeing  that  its  unlimited 
power  might  finally  initiate  the  whole  nation  in  its 
mysterious  horrors.  The  clergy  were  eager  for  the 
work,  and  the  pope  willingly  sanctioned  measures 
which,  by  the  confiscation  of  the  estates  of  the  accused, 
would  pour  immense  wealth  into  bis  coffers. 

Isabella,  whose  tenderness  of  heart  revolted  at  the 
barbarous  design,  withheld  her  consent  till,  blinded  by 
the  united  representations  of  advisers,  in  whom  she  re- 
posed confidence,  and  actuated  by  a  bigotry  which 
owed  its  place  in  her  otherwise  perfect  character  lo  the 
early  teachings  of  her  confessor  Thomas  de  Torquema- 
da,  a  proud,  intolerant  man  of  unrelenting  cruelty,  she 
at  length  permitted  theajjjiointnientof  two  Dominician 
friars  in  September,  148U,  who  were  ordered  to  repair 


80  ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE. 


to  Seville  and  commence  operations  immediately.  Thia 
appointment  was  not  made,  however,  till  after  Isabella 
had  induced  them  to  employ  milder  means,  that  failed 
of  course,  in  the  hands  of  fiery,  overbearing  monks. 

An  edict  was  issued,  ordering  the  arrest  of  all  per- 
sons suspected  of  heresy,  some  of  the  proofs  of  which 
were,  "  wearing  cleaner  linen  on  the  Jewish  sabbath 
than  on  other  days  of  the  week  ;  having  no  fire  in  the 
house  the  preceding  evening ;  giving  Hebrew  names 
to  children,  a  whimsical,  cruel  provision,  since,  by  an 
enactment  of  Henry  IL,  they  were  prohibited  the  use 
of  christian  names,  under  severe  penalties."  The  cells 
of  the  convent  of  St.  Paul,  where  the  dreadful  tribunal 
commenced  its  murderous  deeds,  were  quickly  filled; 
and  the  number  of  arrests  multiplied  so  rapidly  that 
they  were  obliged  to  remove  its  operations  to  the  for- 
tress of  Triana  in  the  suburbs  of  Seville.  Eemoved 
from  the  immediate  supervision  of  the  citizens,  the  in- 
fatuated, brutal  monks  carried  on  the  revolting  work, 
instituting  mock  trials  which  gave  the  accused  no  op- 
portunity of  defence,  but  confronted  him  with  witness- 
es concealed  beneath  black  cowls  and  judges  enveloped 
in  dark  robes ;  the  scene  was  rendered  more  gloomy 
and  depressing  by  the  dimly-lighted  chambers  where 
the  sittings  were  held.  The  victim,  with  no  hope  of 
escape,  however  innocent,  was  often  condemned  through 
the  machinations  of  some  deadly  but  disguised  enemy, 
hurried  away  and  subjected  to  most  excruciating  tor- 
tures, in  dungeons  too  deep  for  their  cries  of  agony  to 
reach  any  sympathizing  ear. 

In  the  meantime  Isabella,  who  devoutly  believed 


ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE.  81 


this  to  be  a  pious  work,  was  occupied  in  preparations 
for  the  Moorish  war,  in  accordance  with  the  promise 
she  made  on  ascending  the  throne,  and  with  the  same 
bigoted  zeal  that  actuated  her  in  the  forced  conversion 
of  her  own  subjects.  Ferdinand  engaged  in  the  pro- 
ject with  commendable  activity,  under  the  cloak  of 
his  "  most  catholic  majesty,"  but  with  the  secret  grati- 
fication of  adding  to  his  dominions  a  wealthy  and  beau- 
tiful region,  acknowledged  as  the  Eden  of  Spain.  Its 
position  too,  embracing  the  most  important  fortifica- 
tions along  the  coast,  caught  the  covetous  eye  of  the 
king,  and  probably  had  an  influence  upon  Isabella, 
though  her  prominent  idea  was  the  conversion  of  the 
infidels. 

The  Moorish  kingdom,  which  had  formerly  extend- 
ed over  a  large  portion  of  Spain,  had  been  reduced,  by 
successive  conquerors,  to  a  narrow  district  of  seventy 
miles  in  breadth,  lying  between  the  mountains  and  sea, 
and  stretching  along  the  coast  one  hundred  and  eighty 
miles.  The  inhabitants  were  still  subject  to  their  ene- 
mies, being  obliged  to  pay  an  annual  tribute  which  had 
ceased  during  the  reign  of  Henry  II.  and  his  succes- 
sors. In  this  interval  they  had  become  prosperous, 
amassed  great  wealth,  beautified  their  possessions  with 
every  known  luxury,  and  cultivated  the  arts  and 
sciences  to  a  surprising  degree.  Ingenious  and  inven 
tive,  they  originated  much  that  has  been  universally 
adopted  by  mankind.  To  them  we  owe  the  first  manu- 
facture of  paper,  and  from  them  came  the  equally 
world- appropriated  invention  of  gunpowder.  Astrono- 
my, philosophy,  and  mathematics,  made  rapid  strides 
6 


82  ISABELLA    OF    CASTILE. 


under  their  direction,  though  perverted  to  the  uses  of 
astrology,  magic,  and  the  untiring  search  after  the 
ehxir  of  Hfe  and  the  philosopher's  stone.  Literaiure 
and  poetry  were  successfully  cultivated,  but  overbur- 
dened with  legends  and  fairy  tales  that  have  since 
been  inwoven  in  the  poetry  of  all  nations. 

The  renowned  city  of  Grenada  was  situated  nearly 
in  the  centre  of  the  kingdom,  upon  two  hills  and  an  in- 
tervening valley,  one  of  the  hills  being  crowned  by  the 
fortress  of  Alcazaba,  the  other  by  the  palace  of  Alham- 
bra,  magnificent  and  fanciful  in  its  architecture,  adorn- 
ed within  by  richly-tinted  walls,  musical  fountains, 
perfumed  gardens,  and  gay  with  gorgeously-dressed 
attendants, — now  a  pile  of  ruins  whose  history  seems 
but  the  magical  creation  of  an  Arabian  romance.  No- 
ble palaces  and  lofty  houses,  abounding  in  Oriental 
colonnades  and  graceful  porticoes,  crowded  the  city. 
It  was  famous  for  its  gallant  warriors,  who  proudly 
boasted  an  armv  of  twentv  thousand  men  within  its 
walls.  Around  the  city  extended  the  Vega  or  plain 
of  Grenada,  luxurious  with  vineyards,  abundant  in 
citron  and  orange  groves  that  perpetually  blossomed, 
and  watered  by  the  Xenil  that  flowed  in  a  thousand 
diverted  channels  through  these  enchanting  gardens. 
Upon  one  side  of  the  plain  extended  a  long  range  of 
mountains  whose  snowy  peaks  rose  like  sentinels  along 
the  frontiers,  while  the  dark  Mediterranean  dashed 
against  the  rocky  battlements  with  which  nature  had 
provided  its  extreme  southern  boundary. 

Populous  cities,  towns  and  impregnable  fortresses 
were  numerous  in  this  fertile  kingdom,  which  was  re 


JtiABELLA   OF   CASTILE.  ii'6 


garded  by  the  Moors  with  a  i)assionate  devotion,  re- 
vealed in  the  romantic  ballads  and  legends  that  immor- 
talized its  beauty  and  glory.  The  king,  Muley  Aben 
Hassen,  was  an  old  man,  yet  one  who  retained  the  fiery 
spirit  of  his  youth,  and  the  natural  vigor  of  his  mind. 
lie  still  held  the  reins  of  government  with  a  firm,  un- 
yielding hand,  but  was  an  undisputed  tyrant  in  his  do- 
mestic relations. 

To  this  haughty  monarch  Ferdinand  and  Isabella 
sent  an  embassy  as  soon  as  their  purpose  was  decided, 
demanding  the  payment  of  long  arrears  of  tribute  due 
to  Castile,     He  received  the  embassy  in  the  halls  of 
the  Alhambra,  and  proudly  defied  the  demand.     "  Tell 
your  sovereigns,"  said  he,  "that  the  kings  of  Grenada 
who  used  to  pay  tribute  to  the  Castiliau  crown  are  dead. 
Our  mint,  at  present,  coins  nothing  but  blades  of  scimi- 
V   ters  and  heads  of  lances  1"     The  indignant  ambassa- 
dors returned  to  Castile,   while  Aben    Hassen,  fully 
aware  of  the  vast  preparations  making  against  him, 
determined  to  open  hostilities  himself.     The  fortress 
and  town  of  Zahara,  negligently  guarded  because  of 
its  impregnable  situation   upon   craggy  heights,  was 
fixed  upon  for  the  first  onset.     An  inconsiderable  num- 
ber of  valiant  Moors  scaled   the   almost  inaccessible 
walls  of  precipitous  rock,  and,  under  cover  of  a  raging 
tempest  and  the  darkness  of  night,  surprised  the  slum- 
bering inhabitants,  massacring   such  as  resisted,  and 
carrying  the  rest  into  slavery. 

The  news  of  this  capture,  roused  the  wrath  and  re- 
venge of  all  Spain,  as  though  it  had  not  intended  to 
commit  a  like  aggression.     Ponce  de  Leon,  the  Marquis 


S4  ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE. 


of  Cadi55,  noted  for  his  personal  prowess,  was  selected 
to  conduct  an  army  of  five  thousand  foot  and  horse 
into  the  enemy's  country,  though,  with  some  especial 
design,  his  soldiers  were  kept  in  ignorance,  they  ex- 
pecting some  sally  along  the  frontiers..  They  per 
formed  a  fatiguing  and  perilous  march  over  the  moun- 
tains that  separated  them  from  the  kingdom  of  Grenada, 
the  way  being  rendered  more  dangerous  by  moving 
only  at  night  in  order  to  conceal  their  approach.  This 
feat  accomplished,  the  marquis  announced  to  his  as- 
tonished soldiers  that  they  were  within  half  a  league 
of  the  fortress  of  Alhama,  in  the  very  heart  of  the 
Moorish  dominions.  This  fortress  and  town,  of  the 
same  name,  were,  like  Zahara,  situated  on  a  rocky  emi- 
nence, washed  at  its  base  by  a  deep  river  on  one  side, 
and  screened  on  the  other  side  from  any  powerful  at- 
tack by  the  mountains.  Its  apparant  security  of  posi- 
tion lulled  the  vigilance  of  the  sentinels,  and  enabled 
a  detachment  of  the  Spanish  army  to  scale  the  walls 
unseen,  put  the  garrison  to  the  sword,  and  throw  open 
the  gates  to  the  remaining  troops.  The  town  was  cap- 
tured after  a  brave  resistance  from  the  Moors,  who 
fought  desperately  this  first  battle  for  their  beautiful 
land,  their  homes,  and  those  endeared  ones  who  were 
threatened  with  death  or  hopeless  slavery. 

The  news  of  this  daring  exploit  almost  within  sight 
of  Grenada,  struck  terror  into  the  hearts  of  the  people, 
who  deplored  the  evil  the  tyrant  king  was  bringing 
upon  them.  The  astrologers  shook  their  heads,  and 
said  the  stars  denoted  the  downfall  of  the  empire,  while 
the  poets   mournfully  sang,  "Woe  is    Alhama,"  and 


ISABKLLA   OF   CASTILE.  85 


women  and  children  rushed  through  the  streets,  tear- 
ing their  hair,  and  wildly  calling  upon  their  king  to  stay 
the  destruction  which  threatened  to  overwhelm  them. 

But  Aben  liassen,  roused  by  this  defiance  of  the 
Castilians  thrown  in  his  very  teeth,  and  deaf  to  the 
lamentations  and  reproaches  of  his  subjects,  made 
iiasty  preparations  to  retake  his  captured  city.  A  large 
army,  fierce  for  vengeance,  assembled  under  the  walls 
of  Alhama,  and  laid  siege  to  the  city.  The  conquer- 
ors held  unflinchingly  what  they  had  so  perilously 
grasped,  unintimidated  by  the  fast  exhausting  means 
found  in  the  city,  or  the  long-protracted,  fierce  attacks 
of  the  Moors,  rapidly  thinning  their  numbers.  In  this 
extremity  the  marquis  succeeded  in  conveying  intelli- 
gence to  his  wife,  who,  alarmed  for  the  safety  of  her 
husband,  quickly  dispatched  a  message  to  the  most 
powerful  neighboring  chief,  the  Duke  of  Sidonia,  to 
fly  to  his  relief.  This  nobleman  was  a  deadly  enemy 
of  the  marquis,  but  with  a  chivalrous  honor,  obeyed 
the  confiding  frankness  of  the  demand,  and,  with  his 
speedily  gathered  retainers,  amounting  to  fifty -five 
thousand,  set  out  for  the  Moorish  dominions. 

The  tidings  of  the  victory  and  ensuing  danger  of  the 
Spanish  army  at  Alhama,  reached  Ferdinand  and  Isa- 
bella at  Medina  del  Campo.  After  a  public  procession 
and  thanksgiving  in  the  cathedrals,  Ferdinand  dis- 
patched orders  to  the  duke,  who  had  already  begun 
his  march,  to  await  his  presence ;  but  he,  unwilling  to 
lose  a  moment,  disobeyed  the  command,  and  pushed 
on  to  the  rescue  of  his  countrymen. 

The  first  announcement  of  their  approach  to  Alhama, 


86  ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE. 


was  the  sudden  retreat  of  tlie  Moors  into  Grrenada,  a 
movement  the  besieged  could  not  comprehend  till, 
presently,  they  saw  lances  glittering  and  banners  float> 
ing  among  the  defiles  of  the  mountains.  With  shouts 
of  joy  they  went  forth  to  meet  the  brilliant  array,  the 
marquis  and  duke  embracing  cordially,  in  presence  of 
both  armies,  forever  burying  the  animosity  that  had 
stained  their  family  escutcheons  with  the  blood  of 
many  generations.  They  triumphantly  entered  the 
city  together. 

In  accordance  with  Isabella's  directions,  the  cross 
was  reared  where  the  crescent  had  hung  for  centuries ; 
the  mosques  were  converted  into  cathedrals ;  and  the 
belongings  and  decorations  of  Catholic  worship  dis- 
p];4ced  the  sacred  utensils  of  Moorish  rites.  An  ex- 
quisitely embroidered  cloth,  the  work  of  the  queen's 
own  hands,  was  laid  upon  the  newly-erected  altar  in 
the  principal  mosque  of  Alhama,  thus  consecrating  to 
rehgion  what  had  been  gained  by  rapacious  bloodshed. 

A  stronghold  being  now  secured  in  the  very  midst 
of  the  kingdom  of  Grenada,  Isabella  determined  to 
prosecute  the  war  more  vigorously  than  ever.  With 
her  sanction  Ferdinand  summoned  an  army,  which,  it 
was  found,  lacked  sufficient  supplies  of  ordnance  and 
ammunition,  in  consequence  of  want  of  means,  to  incur 
further  expense.  Not  listening  to  the  advice  of  more 
experienced  men,  and  burning  with  a  desire  for  mili- 
tary renown,  he  persisted  in  entering  upon  a  campaign 
with  this  ill-equipped  army.  The  soldiers  caught  the 
dispirited  bearing  of  the  leaders,  and,  full  of  evil  fore- 
codings,  dejectedly  followed  the  royal  standard,  carried 


ISABELLA    OF   CASTILE.  87 


bv-fore  tliem  to  the  cathedral  of  Cordova  to  receive  a 
blessing,  and  thence  on  their  long  march  and  toil  over 
the  rugged  mountains. 

Loxa,  a  thriving  citj  on  the  banks  of  the  Xenil,  so 
completely  surrounded  by  inaccessible  rocks  as  to  be 
designated  "  a  flower  among  thorns,"  was  the  first  point 
of  attack.  The  army,  fatigued  with  their  rough  march, 
and  with  no  ardor  in  the  enterprise,  poorly  withstood 
the  wily  assaults  of  the  Moors,  who,  practising  the 
Arabian  and  Indian  tactics,  concealed  themselves  in 
crevices  or  behind  rocks,  and  suddenly  sprang  upon 
their  astonished  foes,  darted  fatal  showers  of  poisoned 
arrows  among  their  ranks,  then  fell  upon  them  with 
never-failing  scimeters  and  deadly  knives.  A  com- 
plete rout  ensued,  and  the  remnant  of  Ferdinand's 
army  returned  to  Cordova  in  a  disconsolate  plight. 
Isabella  was  mortified  at  such  a  signal  defeat ;  she 
fully  resolved  to  adopt  measures  proportioned  to  the 
importance  of  the  undertaking;,  and  not  thus  allow  the 
fame  of  Castilian  arms  to  be  t:irnished. 

The  court  removed  to  Madrid  at  the  beginning  of 
the  year  1483 — a  year  remarkable  for  the  death  of  the 
Archbishop  of  Toledo,  who,  after  his  disgrace,  retired 
to  his  own  palace,  where  he  pursued  the  study  of  al- 
chemy with  such  infatuation  as  exhausted  even  his 
princely  revenues.  This  year  was  also  notable  for  the 
appointment  of  Thomas  de  Torquemada  inquisitor- 
general  of  Castile  and  Arragon,  investing  him  with 
full  powers  to  conduct  the  operations  of  the  Holy  Of- 
fice— powers  which  he  exercised  with  the  utmost  vigor 
and  cruelty,  enforcing  every  imaginable  torture  with 


88  ISABELLA    OF    CASTILE. 


horrible  precision.  Isabella  permitted  its  continaance, 
notwithstanding  the  serious  drain  it  produced  upon 
the  working-classes  as  well  as  the  nobility.  No  one 
was  above  a  suspicion  that,  without  warning,  he  might 
be  snatched  away  from  the  fire- side,  from  the  busy 
loom,  or  the  plying  hammer,  with  a  suddenness  and 
impenetrable  secrecy  that  seemed  the  work  of  imps  of 
Satan,  carrying  their  victims  to  subterranean  halls  and 
placing  them  before  malicious,  cov/led  tribunals,  which 
consigned  them  to  a  frightful,  secret  death,  in  the 
depths  of  the  fortresses  and  castles  occupied  by  the 
inquisitors. 

Had  Isabella  been  left  to  her  own  judgment,  she 
would  have  used  milder  means  to  "  root  out  heresy" 
from  her  kingdom,  but,  actuated  by  her  early  teachers 
who  impressed  her  with  the  duty  of  thorough  action, 
and  influenced  by  her  confessor  Talavera,  she  counte- 
nanced the  proceedings  of  the  Inquisition.  Talavera, 
though  not  possessing  the  cruelty  of  Torquemada,  was 
equally  austere  and  haughty.  Upon  his  first  attend- 
ance upon  the  queen  as  confessor,  he  remained  seated 
while  she  knelt  before  him.  "  It  is  usual  for  both  par- 
ties to  kneel,"  said  she.  "No,"  replied  he,  "this  is 
God's  tribunal ;  I  act  here  as  his  minister,  and  it  is  fit- 
ting that  I  should  keep  my  seat  while  your  Highness 
kneels  before  me."  "  This  is  the  confessor  I  wanted," 
said  she  afterwards  in  commenting  upon  it.  What 
wonder  that  with  such  spiritual  guides,  in  whom  she 
reposed  the  greatest  confidence,  her  doubts  should  be 
overruled. 

Her  resolution  to  execute  the  war  of  Grenada  on  a 


ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE.  89 


larger  scale,  was  soon  made  manifest ;  in  opposition  to 
the  wishes  of  Ferdinand  and  the  chief  leaders,  she  used 
energetic  measures  to  raise  a  new  army.  Ashamed  to 
be  outdone  by  a  woman,  the  old  spirit  of  chivalry  was 
roused  again,  and  they  now  eagerly  offered  their  ser 
vices  to  the  courageous  queen.  The  treasury  being  ex- 
hausted by  the  various  objects  that  drew  largely  upon 
it,  the  pope  was  applied  to,  who  permitted  funds  to  be 
raised  out  of  the  ecclesiastical  revenue,  and  also  issued 
a  "  bull  of  crusade,"  which  granted  indulgences  to  all 
who  should  take  up  arms  against  the  infidel. 

Magnificent  preparations  were  made  with  expecta- 
tions of  a  certain  success  that  seemed  to  be  warranted 
by  the  scenes  of  civil  faction  which  Grenada  presented. 
The  Sultana  Ayxa  was  jealous  of  a  beautiful  Greek 
slave,  of  whom  the  old  king  was  undisguisedly  fond, 
and  fearing  lest  the  succession  of  her  own  son  Boabdil 
should  be  superseded  by  other  heirs,  she  represented 
her  wrongs  to  the  people  already  rebellious  under  the 
tyrannical  government. 

These  intrigues  were  discovered,  for  which  Aben 
Hassen  caused  her  to  be  imprisoned  in  the  highest 
tower  of  the  Alhambra.  With  the  aid  of  her  atten- 
dants she  effected  the  escape  of  herself  and  son  by 
tying  scarfs  and  shawls  together,  upon  which  doubt- 
ful' support  they  descended  to  the  ground  unharmed, 
and  were  welcomed  by  a  large  share  of  the  quickly- 
assembled  inhabitants.  A  contest  soon  commenced 
which  stained  the  halls  of  the  Alhambra  with  blood, 
»nd  drove  from  it  the  tyrant  king,  who  took  shelter  in 


90  ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE. 


Malaga,  a  city  that  remained  loj^al  to  hira,  leaving 
Boabdil  to  occupy  the  throne. 

While  the  kingdom  of  Grenada  was  thus  weakened 
by  domestic  feuds  and  unable  to  rally  unitedly,  the 
Castilians  decided  to  strike  a  blow  at  Malaga.  The 
gallant  army  passed  out  of  the  gates  of  Antequera,  ex- 
ultant and  eager  for  the  victory  of  which  they  were 
confident.  The  following  day  they  arrived  at  the  tor- 
tuous defiles  of  the  Axarquia,  dragging  heavy  artillery 
and  baggage  through  the  rocky  windings  with  great 
difficulty.  During  the  slow  ascent,  the  inhabitants  of 
the  villages  among  the  mountains  had  time  to  escape 
with  their  effects  and  spread  the  alarm  through  the 
lower  country. 

Aben  Hassen  made  immediate  preparations,  and, 
with  a  strong  force,  sallied  from  the  city  of  Malaga  to 
meet  the  enemy,  while  entangled  in  the  passes.  The 
Castilians  were  under  several  leaders,  neither  of  whom 
had  the  supreme  command ;  not  finding  the  booty 
they  anticipated  they  began  to  separate  in  various  de- 
tachments, that  of  the  grand-master  of  St.  James  alone 
proceeding  in  military  order.  Upon  that  division  the 
first  attack  of  the  Moors  fell,  and  as  soon  as  the  sound 
of  the  alarm  was  given,  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz  hastened 
to  his  relief.  The  spirit  and  agility  of  the  Moors  gave 
them  success ;  the  Castilians  were  scattered,  and  laden 
with  spoils  gathered  in  the  various  forages  for  which 
they  had  separated,  and,  unable  to  manage  the  cavalry 
amid  the  defiles,  were  driven  back  after  a  desperate 
struggle.  In  order  to  facilitate  their  escape,  they  were 
obliged  to  leave  the  artillery,  baggage,  and  dearly-earn- 


ISABELLA    OF    CASTILE.  ftl 


e  I  booty  to  their  pursuers.  Their  retreat  was  further 
6' nbarrassed  by  missiles  showered  ui)()u  thein  fVom  the 
hoights  above  by  the  numerous  peasantry  and  viHa- 
gers.  Heavy  rocks  and  stones  rolled  down  upon  their 
close  ranks,  making  fearful  inroads  on  the  already 
diminished  numbers,  causing  confusion,  alarm,  and  a 
struo-ffle  for  life  that  lessened  the  chances  of  escape,  and 
often  sent  them  rolling  into  deep  chasms,  clutchmg 
each  other  with  a  death-grasp. 

The  Marquis  of  Cadiz  succeeded  in  extricating  his 
detatchment  and  escaped  to  Andalusia,  but  the  rest 
were  not  so  fortunate.     Some  lost  their  way,  wander- 
ing back  into  Grenada ;  others  died  from  exhaustion 
and  terror ;  many  were  taken  prisoners,  and  those  who 
still  kept  together  mistook  the  route  and  came  to  a 
stand  in  a  deep,  dark  glen,  hemmed  in  by  insurmount- 
able locks.     Darkness  was  fast  enveloping  them,  in- 
creasing their  danger  and  magnifying  the  horrors  of 
their  situation.      Watch-fires    were    kindled   by   the 
enemy  along  the  ridges   of  the  mountains,  and  the 
fierce  Moors  flitted  hither  and  thither  in  the  red  light, 
like  a  multitude  of  evil  spirits  securing  the  captivity 
of   their   victims.      Well-aimed   arrows   were   darted 
among  the  unresisting  soldiery,  who,  thinking  now  only 
of  personal  safety,  desperately  sought  to  retrace  their 
steps.     After  struggling  through  almost  impenetrable 
thickets,  scaling  frightful  precipices  and  leaping  dark 
chasms,  a  moiety  of  that  brilliant  army  reached  their 
own   frontiers,   almost  dead  with   fatigue  and  terror. 
They  left  three  of  their  most  illustrious  commanders, 
and  two  brothers  of  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz,  slain  among 


92  ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE. 


the  defiles,  to  be  mutilated  by  the  revengeful  Moors, 
or  to  be  prey  for  the  eagle's  eyrie ;  and  one  was  taken 
a  prisoner,  with  no  hope  of  ransom. 

After  these  disasters,  the  war  would  have  ceased  foi 
a  time,  but  for  a  rash  expedition  undertaken  by  Boab- 
dil,  the  young  King  of  Grenada,  who  was  jealous  of  the 
renown  which  his  father's  knights  had  gained,  and  de- 
termined to  perform  some  exploit  himself  which  should 
secure  the  loyalty  of  his  adherents.  Accordingly  he 
summoned  a  large  army  which  embraced  the  flower  of 
Moslem  chivalry  ;  disregarding  the  ill-omened  accident 
of  breaking  his  lance  against  an  arch  as  he  passed 
through  the  gateway  of  the  city  at  the  head  of  his 
army,  he  persisted  in  executing  his  purpose,  perhaps 
the  more  desperately,  from  the  repeated  and  mysteri- 
ous warnings  he  received  from  the  astrologers,  and  be- 
cause of  an  old  prophecy  which  foretold  that  he  would 
be  the  last  king  of  Grenada. 

The  Castilians  having  been  informed  of  his  design 
of  investing  Lucena  on  the  Spanish  frontiers,  provided 
that  city  with  a  strong  garrison.  The  Count  de  Cabra 
raised  a  small  army,  and  came  in  sight  of  Lucena  just 
as  the  Moors  were  marching  towards  it  on  the  opposite 
side.  The  approach  of  the  Spanish  army  was  partially 
concealed  by  the  rolling  hills  among  which  they  pass- 
ed, affording  the  Moors  only  an  occasional  glimpse  of 
troops  thus  multiplied  infinitely  to  their  alarmed  vision ; 
the  echoes  of  the  loud  clarions  and  trumpets  that  filled 
their  ears,  impressed  them  with  the  approach  of  an  im- 
mense army.  At  the  same  time  troops  poured  forth 
from   the   gates   of  the  city.     Imagining   themselves 


ISABELLA   OF  CASTILE.  98 


already  overpowered,  a  portion  of  the  Moors  fled,  leav- 
ing the  brunt  of  the  battle  to  the  cavalry,  who  soon 
obliged  the  rest  to  give  way  and  retreat  towards  the 
Xenil,  closely  followed  by  their  pursuers.  The  panic 
and  struggle  for  life  were  so  great  that  numbers  were 
precipitated  into  the  waters,  grappling  one  another,  till 
they  sank  in  a  common  grave.  The  proudest  blood  of 
Grenada  flowed  from  the  banks  and  mingled  with  the 
rolling  river  that  day — a  day  immortalized  in  the 
mournful  lamentations  and  ballads  of  a  race  who 
fought  to  perpetuate  a  nation  that  was  doomed  to  be 
struck  out  from  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth. 

Boabdil  was  often  seen  in  the  thickest  of  the  melee, 
conspicuous  from  being  mounted  upon  a  richly-capari- 
soned, white  steed,  and  wearing  golden  armor,  and  a 
magnificent  turban  blazing  with  jewels.-  His  royal 
guard  fell  one  after  another  around  him.  Unable  to 
sustain  himself  longer,  or  to  hope  for  escape  across  the 
river,  he  dismounted  and  concealed  himself  in  a  thicket. 
A  Castilian  ooldier  discovered  his  retreat,  and  would 
have  dispatched  him  after  calling  assistance,  had  not 
the  king  revealed  his  rank.  This  was  the  crowning 
feature  of  the  day.  He  was  triumphantly  led  to  the 
Spanish  camp  and  conducted  to  Count  Cabra,  who  re 
ceived  him  w.th  all  the  honor  and  respect  due  to  the 
royal  captive.  He  was  then  escorted  to  the  count's 
castle,  and  entertained  with  munificent  hospitality,  the 
most  punctilious  care  being  taken  to  make  the  golden- 
plumaged  bird  forget  that  he  was  caged. 

Isabella  received  the  tidings  with  tears  as  well  as 
joy,  and  sent  him  a  message  Cull  of  kindness  and  cour- 


94  ISABELLA    OF    CA8TILE. 


tesy ;  all  her  generous  womanly  sympathies  were 
awakened  for  the  unfortunate  prince.  When  a  coun- 
cil convened  to  determine  what  was  to  be  done  with 
their  captive,  they  talked  of  delivering  him  to  the  ven- 
geance of  his  father  for  a  heavy  ransom,  but  Isabella 
indignantly  rejected  the  proposal,  deciding  that  he 
should  be  liberated  and  sent  back  to  his  country,  on 
condition  of  allegiance  to  the  Castilian  sovereigns  ;  the 
promise  of  supplies  to  their  troops,  and  permission  to 
pass  unmolested  through  that  portion  of  the  country 
under  his  sway  ;  together  with  the  payment  of  a  large 
sum  of  money  annually  ;  and  the  delivery  of  his  sou, 
and  several  children  of  the  nobility,  as  hostages.  He 
was  released,  and  diter  a  cordial  interview  with  the 
king  and  queen,  was  conducted  by  a  brilliant  escort  to 
his  own  dominions. 

In  the  loftiest  towers  of  the  Alhambra,  his  mother 
and  beautiful  young  wife  Morayma  had  watched  daily 
for  the  coming  of  Boabdil ;  straining  their  eyes  in  vain 
beyond  the  vine-covered  Vega,  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
the  triumphant  return  of  the  gaily -equipped  cavaliers, 
who  had  gone  forth  with  buoyant  hopes  to  win  glory. 
\A'"hile  still  gazing  far  among  the  blue  mountains  for  a 
sight  of  the  Moslem  banners,  heralding  the  approach 
of  the  victors,  their  keen  eyes  perceived  a  little  band 
of  horsemen  skimming  swiftly  across  the  plain.  With 
beating  hearts  they  returned  to  the  state  chamber  to 
await  tidings  that  were  soon  conveyed  to  them,  more 
loudly  than  words  could  have  done,  in  the  blood-stain- 
ed, dusty  habiliments  that  remained  to  the  exhausted 
cavaliers,  who  rushed  with  evil  news  to  the  presence 


ISABELLA    OF    CASTILE.  95 


of  the  queen-regent.  The  announcement  of  the  capture 
ol  Boabdil,  overwhehned  his  wife  and  mother  with 
grief,  and  filled  the  city  with  lamentations.  OKI  men 
and  wcjmcn  wandered  through  the  streets,  tearing  their 
hair  and  throwing  ashes  upon  their  heads.  The  wise 
were  struck  dumb  with  the  unheard-of  calamity  ;  and 
even  the  children  united  in  the  waihng  cry  that  rose 
yet  more  mournfully  than  the  sad  cadence  that  pro- 
phesied the  recoil  of  the  first  blow,  beginning  with 
the  words — 

"  Ay  de  mi  Albamal" 

The  high-spirited  Sultana  Ayxa,  unwilhng  to  in- 
dulge a  useless  grief,  made  an  effort  for  Boabdil's  lib- 
erty, offering  an  immense  ransom  and  terms  which,  for 
the  most  part,  were  those  the  conquerors  granted. 
But  the  glory  of  Grenada  had  departed,  for,  no  sooner 
nad  the  degraded  king  returned  to  his  dominions,  than 
Aben  Hassen  renewed  his  former  animosity  through 
Abdallah  El  Zagel,  a  vigorous  and  fiery  warrior,  who 
was  appointed  to  succeed  the  old  monarch  now  blind 
and  infirm.  The  new  opposing  king  carried  on  a  de- 
termined warfare  with  the  fated  Boabdil's  party,  till  the 
palace  of  the  Alhambra  and  the  streets  of  Grenada 
were  streaming  with  the  blood  of  the  bravest  Moors, 
who  should  have  reserved  their  strength  for  the  com 
mon  defence  of  the  kingdom. 

Ferdinand  and  Isabella  continued  to  take  advantage 
of  these  destructive  feuds,  pushing  their  conquests  from 
town  to  town,  capturing  the  most  important  posts  and 
strongest  fortresses  along  the  frontiers.     No  memorable 


96  ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE. 


campaign  occurred  however  till  1485, — a  year  distin- 
guished for  the  siege  and  capture  of  Eonda.  Isabella, 
with  all  her  household,  accompanied  the  army,  ani- 
mating the  soldiers  with  fresh  courage,  and  prompting 
the  gallant  knights  and  cavaliers  to  valiant  deeds,  to 
deserve  the  smiles  and  commendation  of  their  beautiful 
queen,  for  whom  it  v/as  glory  to  peril  their  lives.  Her 
presence  softened  the  horrors  and  sufferings  of  war,  as 
she  always  advised  the  most  lenient  and  magnanimous 
conduct  toward  the  vanquished,  and  held  back  the 
murderous  sword  that  almost  universally  follows  in  the 
track  of  victory.  She  frequently  reviewed  the  troops 
on  horseback,  wearing  light  armor,  and  addressed  the 
soldiers  with  a  perfect  grace  and  strength,  united  with 
unassumed  modesty,  that  won  the  admiration  of  the 
whole  army.  Any  one  of  those  thousands  would  prob- 
ably have  laid  down  his  life  in  the  defence  of  a  queen, 
regarded,  by  all  her  subjects,  with  the  passionate  de- 
votion of  a  lover,  as  well  as  with  the  awe  which,  not 
only  royalty,  but  the  purity  and  beauty  of  her  charac- 
ter inspired. 

To  her  the  honor  is  due  of  first  establishing  the  ines- 
timable services  of  a  hospital  in  the  army ;  she  paid, 
from  her  own  revenues,  the  skillful  military  surgeons 
and  the  expenses  of  six  spacious  tents,  provided  with 
beds  and  everything  necessary  for  the  comfort  of  the 
sick  and  wounded  ;  it  was  denominated  the  "  Queen's 
Hospital."  She  was  always  accompanied  by  the  In- 
fanta Isabella,  whom  she  loved  with  more  than  ordi- 
nary tenderness.  The  sweetest  and  most  confidential 
intercourse  existed  between  them,  endearing  them  to 


ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE.  97 


each  other  with  such  strength  of  affection  as  nearly 
proved  fatal  when  a  final  separation  became  necessary. 

The  campaign  of  1486  opened  under  brilliant  aus- 
pices. Vast  preparations  were  made,  and  once  more 
the  valiant  warriors  of  Spain,  emboldened  by  the  pres 
ence  of  Ferdinand,  filed  out  froii)  the  gates  of  Cordova 
amidst  floating  banners,  the  flourish  of  trumpets,  the 
music  of  clarions,  and  buoyed  by  the  hopes  of  victory, 
whereof  they  were  more  rationally  certain  from  being 
thoroughly  supplied  with  every  provision  necessary  to 
a  well-equipped  army. 

While  they  proceeded  to  the  siege  of  Loxa,  Isabella 
remained  at  Cordova,  assuming  the  sole  administration 
of  government,  and  attending  to  civil  and  military  busi- 
ness with  surprising  precision  and  skill.  The  derange- 
ment of  internal  affairs,  increased  during  the  prolonged 
absence  of  the  sovereigns,  added  to  the  thousand  sepa- 
rate demands  upon  her  time,  caused  many  an  applicant 
to  be  unavoidably  unheard.  Among  the  throng  who 
eagerly  sought  her  presence,  was  one  who,  in  lowly 
garb,  passed  unnoticed  through  the  streets  of  Cordova, 
abstracted  and  absorbed  in  the  great  dreams  that  daily 
pictured  the  glorious  panorama  of  the  Western  World, 
and  living  a  life  of  noble  aspirations  and  intense  long- 
ing to  grasp  the  reality  beyond  the  ocean  that  his  keen 
vision  had  already  spanned — a  life  of  hopes  and  aims 
exalting  him  far  above  the  motley,  scornful  multitude, 
which,  to  his  unmindful  sight, 

"  Passed  dimly  forth  and  back,  as  seen  in  dreams." 

Im.patient  with  the  cold  and  reiterated  refusals  of  an 

T 


98  ISABKLLA    OF    CASTILE. 


audience,  Columbus  succeeded  in  laying  his  gigantic 
plans  before  Talavera,  the  queen's  confessor,  through 
whom  he  hoped  to  reach  Isabella's  ear.  He  had  pre- 
viously' ap|)lied  to  John  II.  of  Portugal,  who  rejected 
the  chimerical  ideas  with  disdain ;  now  he  had  a  worse 
obstacle  to  encounter  in  the  learned  prelate's  uncon- 
querable aversion  to  any  departure  from  the  long- 
established  theories.  Too  much  occupied  to  bestow 
thought  upon  Columbus'  scheme,  Isabella  refused  him 
admission,  with  an  indefinite  promise  of  giving  atten- 
tion to  the  subject  at  some  future  day.  Columbus,  im- 
patient at  the  delay,  could  only  plunge  into  the  scenes 
of  warfare  that  now  seemed  to  engulph  every  other 
interest. 

After  the  capture  of  Loxa,  Ferdinand  requested  Isa- 
bella's presence  in  the  army,  to  which  she  promptly 
responded.  With  the  Princess  Isabella,  the  ladies  of 
her  court,  and  a  numerous  and  brilliant  train  of  at- 
tendants, she  set  out  for  the  camp.  The  Marquis  of 
Cadiz,  with  a  detachment  of  nobles  and  cavaliers  met 
her  on  the  frontiers,  and  conducted  her  to  the  encamp- 
ment in  the  vicinity  of  Moclin.  "The  queen  rode  a 
chestnut  mule,  seated  on  a  saddle-chair,  embossed  with 
gold  and  silver.  The  housings  were  of  a  crimson  color, 
and  the  bridle  was  of  satin,  curiously  wrought  with 
'etters  of  gold.  The  infanta  wore  a  skirt  of  fine  velvet 
over  others  of  brocade,  a  scarlet  mantilla  of  the  Moor- 
ish fashion,  and  a  black  hat  trimmed  with  gold  em- 
broidery. The  king  rode  forward,  at  the  head  of  his 
nobles,  to  receive  her.  He  was  dressed  in  a  crimson 
doublet,  with  breeches  of  yellow  satin.    Over  his  shoul- 


ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE  99 


ders  was  thi-own  a  mantle  of  rich  brocade,  and  a  sou 
pravest  of  the  same  materials  concealed  his  cuirass. 
By  his  side,  close  girt,  he  wore  a  Moorish  scirniter,  and 
beneath  his  bonnet  his  hair  was  confined  by  a  cap  of 
the  finest  stuff.  He  was  mounted  on  a  noble  war- 
horse  of  a  bright  chestnut  color."  As  they  approached 
each  other,  they  bowed  thrice,  uncovering  their  heads, 
and  saluted  one  another  affectionately,  though  with  the 
stately  ceremonies  which  accompanied  every  movement 
of  their  majesties. 

The  presence  of  Isabella  and  her  court  in  the  camp, 
spread  universal  joy,  gave  new  life  to  the  soldiery,  and 
added  to  the  brilliancy  of  the  scene.  Eoyal  pavilions 
were  reared  in  the  midst  of  the  encampment,  embel- 
lished with  all  the  luxuries  pertaining  to  a  court,  and 
gay  with  the  presence  of  the  beautiful  and  distin- 
guished. There  were  the  heroic  Marchioness  of  Cadiz, 
and  the  Marchioness  of  Moya,  better  known  as  Beatrix 
de  Bobadilla,  together  with  the  dignified  presence  of 
the  grand  cardinal  Mendoza,  a  man  reverenced  for  his 
learning  and  reliable  qualities.  The  gallant  Earl  of 
Rivers,  of  England,  with  his  brave  followers ;  Gonsalvo 
de  Cordova,  the  notable  captain  of  the  royal  guards, 
and  his  famous  brother  Don  Alonzo;  the  Marquis  of 
Cadiz,  styled  "the  Mirror  of  Andalusian  Chivalry;" 
the  Count  de  Cabra,  the  capturer  of  Boabdil,  and  a 
host  of  renowned  knights,  with  their  numberless  fol- 
lowers, made  up  as  famed  and  gorgeous  an  array  as 
ever  entered  the  battle-field. 

And  among  this  throng  of  haughty,  powerful  nobles, 
who  burned  to  gain  laurels  to  lay  at  the  feet  of  the 


100  ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE. 


worshipped  queen,  moved  Columbus,  still  unnoticed, 
still  overshadowed  by  the  bold  and  great,  whose  em 
blazoned  names  ia  future  years  would  pale  before  the 
ra-diance  of  the  genius  now  despised  by  their  preju- 
dices. The  din  of  war  drowned  his  pleadings,  and  the 
poor  but  noble  Genoese  could  only  raise  his  arm  be- 
side the  common  soldier  to  strike  a  common  foe. 

Moclin  was  captured;  its  dungeons  thrown  open, 
from  whence  poured  forth  christian  captives,  whose 
fate  had  long  been  a  mystery  to  their  mourning  rela- 
tives ;  its  mosques  were  converted  into  cathedrals,  col- 
leges founded  for  the  instruction  of  the  Moors  in  the 
catholic  faith,  and  arrangements  made  for  the  govern- 
ment of  the  conquered  cities.  Isabella  universallv  ex- 
erted herself  to  alleviate  the  horrors  of  war,  showing 
such  leniency  and  kindness  towards  her  Moslem  sub- 
jects, as  secured  a  devotion  almost  equal  to  that  of  her 
own  nation  ;  and  when  severe  or  cruel  measures  were 
app}ied,  it  was  because  her  remonstrances  were  over- 
ruled by  Ferdinand  and  the  Spanish  leaders. 

At  the  close  of  the  campaign,  the  sovereigns  returned 
to  Spain,  making  Salamanca  their  place  of  royal  resi- 
ience.  Here  Columbus  succeeded,  through  the  influ- 
ence of  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz  and  Cardinal  Mendoza, 
both  men  of  enlightened  minds,  in  obtaining  the  ap- 
pointment of  a  council  to  decide  his  claims.  Talavera 
was  designated  to  select  the  most  learned  and  scientific 
men  in  the  kingdom,  for  this  purpose  ;  many  of  them 
were  equally  pugnacious  to  innovations  upon  estab- 
lished theories,  and  caused  discussions  which  wertf 
likely  to  foil  the  long-protracted  hopes  of  Columbus, 


ISABELLA   OF  CASTILE/'  '    '  ll^l' 


by  their  interminable  length,  if  not  in  their  decision. 
The  spring  of  1487  came,  and  the  council,  without 
having  effected  anything,  was  broken  up  by  the  prep- 
arations demanded  for  a  new  campaign. 

Ferdinand  placed  himself  at  the  head  of  an  army  ot 
twelve  thousand  horse  and  forty  thousand  foot,  and 
once  more  advanced  towards  the  dominions  of  the 
Moors.  A  toilsome  march  over  the  mountains,  a  rapid 
descent  among  the  defiles,  and  the  army  swept  like  a 
cloud  of  devouring  locusts  over  the  fair  fields,  vine- 
yards and  gardens  of  Grenada,  leaving  a  scene  of  deso- 
lation behind  it,  and  at  length  settling  in  a  broad  val- 
ley, at  the  extremity  of  which  lay  the  city  of  Malaga, 
second  in  importance  only  to  Grenada.  The  approach 
to  it,  however,  was  rendered  perilous  by  two  well- 
guarded  eminences,  commanding  the  valley  both  on 
the  sea-coast  and  the  opposite  side,  where  the  wild 
sierra  receded  into  mountainous  heights  that  overshad- 
owed the  city.  After  a  desperate  defence  by  the  Moors, 
the  Marquis  of  Cadiz  took  possession  of  the  position 
considered  most  dangerous  from  its  exposure  to  attacks 
of  bands  concealed  in  the  neighboring  thickets;  the 
other  most  important  point  was  secured  by  La  Vega. 

The  following  morning,  the  remainder  of  the  army 
swept  through  the  pass  and  defiled  into  a  wide  plain 
which  surrounded  the  city  upon  three  sides  ;  the  fourth 
was  washed  by  the  waves  of  the  ocean.  A  Spanish 
fleet  rode  in  the  harbor,  effectually  cutting  off  supplies 
in  that  quarter.  Thus  the  doomed  city  was  completely 
encircled  by  a  foe  daily  tightening  its  coils,  till  the  vic- 
tim was  crushed  in  the  fearful  embrace.     Malaga  wa* 


102  ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE. 


bravely  defended  by  a  noble  Moor,  named  Hamet  El 
Zegri,  renowned  since  the  siege  of  Ronda,  and  appoint- 
ed to  this  responsible  post  by  El  Zagel,  who  still  dis- 
puted the  crown  with  Boabdil.  But  for  this  weak 
orince,  Malaga  might  have  been  rescued  by  the  Moors, 
'nasmuch  as  a  valiant  band  of  troops  set  out  from  Gre- 
nada to  their  assistance,  but  were  intercepted  by  Boab- 
dil and  engaged  in  a  bloody  affray,  which  disabled 
^hem.  After  several  weeks  spent  in  the  unsuccessful 
bombardment  of  the  city,  the  Christians,  wearied  with  its 
determined  resistance,  became  discontented.  A  rumor 
had  reached  the  besieged  that  the  Spaniards  were  about 
^o  break  up  their  camp ;  this  gave  them  fresh  courage 
k)  prolong  the  struggle.  To  undeceive  them,  Ferdi- 
nand immediately  sent  for  Isabella  to  join  the  army, 
fenowing  her  presence  would  dispel  the  dissatisfaction 
•imong  the  troops,  and  would  assure  the  infidels  of 
Sheir  intentions  to  persevere. 

Isabella's  arrival  was  greeted  with  every  manifesta- 
tion of  joy  ;  the  plain  of  Malaga  presented  a  scene  like 
that  of  Moclin  ;  it  was  brilliant  with  gorgeously  attired 
horsemen,  and  glancing  weapons,  gay  with  pavilions, 
from  which  floated  the  royal  standard,  and  the  interior 
of  which  was  richly  hung  with  silken  draperies,  and 
otherwise  luxuriously  fitted  for  the  presence  of  beauti- 
ful women  of  noble  birth,  the  wives  or  sisters  of  those 
hi  the  camp.  The  army  was  purified  from  the  vices 
which  usually  accompany  war.  Gambling  was  pro- 
hibited under  severe  penalties,  blasphemy  punished 
and  prostitutes  banished — a  state  of  things  due  to  Isa- 
bella's pious  and  virtuous  regulations. 


ISABKLLA   OF   CASTILE.  103 


Immediately  after  her  arrival,  she  showed  the  hu- 
manity and  mildness  of  her  character,  by  requesting 
the  cessation  of  hostile  operations,  and  caused  terms  of 
capitulation  to  be  offered  the  inhabitants  of  Malaga ; 
they  would  gladly  have  accepted  these  but  for  -the 
fierce  chieftain  El  Zegri,  who  returned  only  a  defiant 
answer.  The  siege  was,  therefore,  prosecuted  with 
redoubled  vigor. 

An  event  occurred  shortly  after  the  queen's  arrival, 
which  occasioned  great  alarm  for  her  safety.  A  wild 
Moor  named  Agerbi,  allowed  himself  to  be  taken 
prisoner,  and,  promising  to  reveal  important  informa- 
tion to  the  Spanish  sovereigns,  was  conducted  to  the 
royal  tent.  The  king  being  asleep,  the  queen  refused 
to  confer  with  the  prisoner  till  he  should  awaken  and 
be  present  at  the  audience.  The  Moor  was,  therefore, 
led  to  an  adjoining  pavilion,  where  the  Marchioness 
of  Moya  and  Don  Alvaro  were  playing  a  game  of  chess. 
Their  magnificent  apparel  and  distinguished  bearing 
deceived  Agerbi,  who,  thinking  himself  in  the  presence 
of  royalty,  suddenly  drew  forth  a  dagger  from  the 
folds  of  his  Moorish  mantle  and  plunged  it  into  the 
side  of  the  unsuspecting  Don  Alvaro,  then  turned, 
quick  as  lightning,  upon  the  marchioness,  who  escaped 
injury  by  the  weapon  becoming  entangled  in  the  heavy 
embroidery  of  her  robes,  in  its  descent.  The  atten- 
dants fell  upon  the  assassin,  dispatching  him  with 
numberless  blows.  The  noise  of  the  affray  soon  spread 
the  alarm,  and,  in  revenge  for  the  daring  attempt,  his 
body  was  thrown  from  an  engine  into  the  besieged 
city.      Spanish  historians  denominate  him  a  fanatic* 


104  ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE. 


his  own  countrymen  might  have  immortalized  him  as 
a  hero  who,  in  the  face  of  certain  death,  made  one  last 
effort  to  arrest  the  departing  glory  of  the  kings  of 
Grrenada,  by  sending  into  the  captivity  of  death  the 
<;rowned  instigators  of  their  downfall. 

The  vigilance  of  sentinels  was  redoubled,  and  an 
additional  guard  placed  in  the  royal  quarters.  Though 
Isabella  was  disturbed  and  alarmed  at  her  danger 
she  still  enforced  her  wishes  to  spare  the  destruction 
of  Malaga  and  its  inhabitants.  Capitulation  was  again 
offered,  but  rejected  with  disdain,  notwithstanding  the 
famine  which  had  reduced  the  besieged  to  the  neces- 
sity of  eating  the  flesh  of  horses,  cats,  dogs,  and  boiled 
leaves ;  to  this  distress  a  pestilence  was  added,  arising 
from  the  use  of  such  unwholesome  food.  Reduced  to 
the  uttermost  extremity,  their  numbers  rapidly  dimin- 
ishing, and  their  places  of  defence  giving  way  under 
the  increasing  fire  and  battering  engines  of  the  Span- 
iards, El  Zegri  at  length  sent  an  embassy  to  Ferdi- 
nand, accepting  the  offered  terms ;  to  which  the  king 
replied  that  it  was  too  late,  as  they  must  now  abide  by 
such  terms  as  their  conquerors  chose  to  offer.  After 
remonstrances,  threats,  and  defiance  on  the  part  of  the 
Moorish  general,  he  was  at  length  obliged  to  surrender 
Malaga  unconditionally,  having  bravely  maintained  its 
lefence  for  three  months. 

Ferdinand  and  Isabella  entered  the  city  at  the  head 
of  a  triumphant  procession,  and  went  in  state  to  the 
cathedral  of  St.  Mary,  where  mass  was  performed,  and 
thanks  given  to  the  God  of  armies  for  enabling  them 
to  establish  the  catholic  faith  in  the  land  of  the  infidels. 


ISABKLLA    OF   CASTILE.  105 


The  Te  Deum  was  solemnly  chanted,  followed  by  all 
the  usual  demonstrations  of  victory.  In  the  meantime 
the  inhabitants  of  Malaga  awaited  the  decision  of  their 
fate  with  the  additional  terror  of  suspense. 

The  dungeons  were  opened  and  the  christian  cap- 
tives, Avho  had  been  chained  there  for  years,  were  led 
before  Isabella,  in  the  presence  of  the  assembled  multi- 
tude. Sons,  brothers,  husbands,  long  mourned  as  dead, 
were  recognized  among  the  dejected,  cadaverous  be- 
ings, with  cries  of  joy  at  the  reunion,  and  tears  at  the 
sight  of  their  suffering.  Isabella  wept  with  them,  had 
them  carefully  provided  for,  and  enabled  them  to  re- 
turn to  their  families. 

Strange  inconsistency  that  could  release  captives  in 
a  foreign  land  with  tears,  while,  in  her  own  dominions, 
thousands  innocently  suffered  a  more  horrible  captivity 
m  the  dungeons  of  the  Inquisition!  And  strange 
infatuation  that  should  lead  her,  immediately  after  the 
release  of  Spanish  prisoners,  for  whom  her  tears  had 
flowed,  to  enslave  a  host  of  the  most  beautiful  Moorish 
maidens,  for  herself  and  friends,  tearing  them  from 
homes  and  loved  ones  no  less  dear  because  the  cres- 
cent was  an  emblem  of  their  faith,  though  this  was  suf- 
ficient to  make  them  unfeeling  in  the  eyes  of  the  Span- 
iards. 

The  terrified  inhabitants  were  ordered  to  appear  in 
the  spacious  court-yard  of  the  Alcazaba,  to  hear  their 
doom  pronounced.  Wasted  by  famine  and  exhausted 
with  fearful  watching,  they  clung  in  despairing  silence 
to  one  another,  pale  and  trembling ;  they  were  anxious 
as  to  their  impending  fate,  yet  hoping  for  the  generoug 


106  ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE. 


treatment  shown  towards  other  conquered  cities.  Here 
and  there  a  sullen  Moor  stood  apart  with  folded  arms 
and  rebellious  spirit,  haughtily  awaiting  the  sentence  he 
knew  full  well  would  be  no  light  one  from  the  exasper- 
ated conquerors.  Breathlessly  the  multitude  listened 
till  the  dreaded  decree  of  hopeless  slavery  was  passed 
upon  them ;  then  sent  up  a  long,  mournful  cry  that 
might  have  touched  a  heart  of  stone.  "Oh  Malaga! 
renowned  and  beautiful,  what  shall  become  of  thy  old 
men  and  thy  matrons,  thy  sons  and  thy  maidens,  when 
they  shall  feel  the  galling  yoke  of  bondage,"  cried 
they,  in  tones  of  agonized  grief  Daughters  clung  to 
mothers,  children  in  vain  supplicated  the  protection  of 
their  fathers ;  the  family  ties  were  broken ;  some  were 
destined  to  the  burning  coast  of  Africa,  some  to  be 
distributed  in  the  beautiful  plains  of  Italy,  while  the 
noblest  and  fairest  were  selected  to  embellish  the 
palaces  of  Spain,  in  subjection  to  those  whom  they 
hated  as  infidels  as  well  as  oppressors. 

Ferdinand  would  have  put  them  all  to  the  sword 
but  for  the  remonstrances  of  his  more  humane  consort, 
though  their  policy  had  always  been  marked  by  a 
magnanimity  that  won  them  a  world-wide  fame  in 
those  days  of  savage  warfare.  The  rapacious  Ferdi- 
nand, fearing  that  the  inhabitants  would  conceal  their 
wealth,  secured  it  by  offering  freedom  to  them  at  a 
ransom  so  enormous,  that  despite  all  the  gold,  precious 
stones,  and  merchandise  the  duped  victims  could  lay 
at  his  feet,  it  availed  them  nothing. 

These  traits  that  gradually  became  more  prominent 
in  his  character,  repulsed  the  upright  purity  and  ten- 


ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE.  101 


derness  of  Isabella's  more  refined,  exalted  nature,  and 
chilled  the  love  that  had  at  first  united  their  interests 
and  aims.  But  whatever  Isabella's  disapj^ointment 
was  upon  a  clearer  perception  of  the  soul  that  years 
made  more  transparent  to  her  insight,  she  never  com- 
promised the  dignity  of  either  by  revealing  it  to  those 
who  surrounded  them. 

The  year  succeeding  the  capture  of  Malaga,  was 
more  remarkable  for  its  reverses  than  successes.  After 
a  short  campaign,  Ferdinand  withdrew  his  forces. 
Isabella's  residence  during  the  ensuing  winter  was  at 
Valladolid  and  Saragossa,  where  she  was  entirely  en- 
grossed in  domestic  ajEfairs  and  the  education  of  her 
children.  The  Princess  Isabella  was  her  constant  com- 
panion and  confidant,  relieving  her  mother's  sorrows 
by  her  gentle,  sweet  sympathy.  Her  eldest  and  prom- 
ising son  Don  Juan,  often  diverted  her  from  oppressive 
troubles;  but  all  her  motherly  anxieties  were  awaken- 
ed for  her  second  daughter  Joanna,  who,  having  al- 
ways been  subject  to  fits,  was  threatened  with  idiocy 
or  insanity.  The  infant  Catherine,  destined  to  a  sad 
fate,  and  known  as  Catherine  of  Arragon,  was  at  this 
time  affianced  to  Prince  Arthur,  son  of  Henry  YII.  of 
England,  an  event  which  sealed  a  long,  unbroken  peace 
between  the  two  nations. 

The  brilliant  campaign  of  1489  decided  the  fate  of 
Grenada.  An  army  was  raised  of  fifteen  thousand 
horse  and  eighty  thousand  foot,  embracing  the  most 
distinguished  leaders  and  hardy  knights  of  Spain,  to- 
gether with  troops  furnished  by  allies.  Ferdinand  led 
his  legions  once  more  over  the  mountainous  barriers, 


108  ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE. 


determined  to  summon  all  their  strength  for  a  final 
victory  that  should  terminate  this  long,  disastrous 
war. 

The  siege  of  Baza  was  determined  upon,  as  it  was 
the  capital  of  El  Zagel's  dominions,  and  the  most  im- 
portant post  to  be  obtained.  A  long  and  fierce  resist- 
ance, however,  dampened  the  ardor  of  the  Spaniards, 
and,  after  suffering  several  reverses  in  skirmishes  and 
attacks  upon  the  town,  and  dreading  the  severity  of 
the  fast-approaching  winter,  they  were  so  entirely  dis- 
heartened as  to  unitedly  desire  the  king  to  return  to 
Castile,  and  await  the  following  spring  for  the  further- 
ance of  designs  that  would  detain  and  expose  them  to 
certain  death  by  the  hardships  of  the  cold  season,  and 
the  cutting  off  of  supplies  by  the  breaking  up  of  the 
roads  over  the  mountains.  Even  the  most  heroic  lead- 
ers advised  Ferdinand  to  abandon  the  siege,  and  scarce- 
ly one  in  the  whole  army  opposed  it  but  the  sagacious 
commander  of  Leon.     . 

Uncertain  what  course  to  take,  and  unwilling  to  dis- 
band his  army  without  a  single  conquest,  Ferdinand 
sent  an  embassy  to  Isabella  who  resided  at  Jaen,  a  place 
nearest  the  scene  of  action  and  most  convenient  for 
communication.  Her  reply,  full  of  hope,  courage  and 
energy,  promising  the  faithful  discharge  of  her  engage- 
ment to  furnish  supplies  to  the  army  without  intermis- 
sion, at  whatever  cost  or  labor,  reassured  the  dispirited 
army.  With  fresh  vigor  they  made  preparations  for 
the  approaching  winter,  and  the  astounded  Moors  of 
Baza  suddenly  beheld  a  city  of  houses  and  streets  rise 
as  if  by  magic,  where  only  light  tents  had  sheltered  the 


ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE.  109 


besiegers.  Walls  of  mud,  thatched  with  timber,  con- 
stituted the  houses  of  the  nobility  ;  palisades  joined  at 
the  top,  and  intertwined  with  boughs,  protected  the 
common  soldiers.  Shortly  after  the  completion  of 
these  huts,  a  severe  storm  swept  them  all  to  the  earth  ; 
torrents  rolled  down  from  the  mountains,  swelling  the 
streams  to  an  impassable  depth  and  rapidity ;  the 
mountain  roads  were  blocked  up  by  fallen  rocks  and 
trees,  and  deep  fissures  were  cut  by  the  descending 
floods. 

Alalia  was  depicted  on  every  countenance,  now  that 
supplies  and  intercourse  with  their  own  country  were 
completely  cut  off.  Two  or  three  days  of  painful  sus- 
pense ensued,  when  a  messenger  arrived  from  Isabella, 
exhorting  them  to  hold  their  position,  for  the  roads 
should  be  quickly  i-epaired.  With  incredible  alacrity 
and  skillful  management,  she  succeeded  in  the  recon- 
struction of  the  roads ;  her  workmen  made  new  ones, 
bridged  the  swollen  rivers,  and  established  a  line  of 
fourteen  thousand  mules,  which  constantly  conveyed 
supplies  of  every  description  to  the  army.  The  im- 
mense expense  incurred,  she  defrayed  by  pawning  the 
crown  jewels,  plate,  and  personal  ornaments ;  by  large 
sums  borrowed  of  wealthy  individuals  who,  for  their 
reimbursement,  trusted  to  the  word  of  the  queen — a 
sufficient  guarantee  for  any  risk,  so  faithful  was  she  in 
performing  her  promises  ;  and  by  the  treasures  of  the 
convents  and  monasteries,  thrown  open  to  her.  Thus 
to  the  indefatigable  efforts  of  this  high-spirited,  admi 
rable  woman,  who  wonderfully  united  feminine  quali 
ties  with   masculine   wisdom,   energy  and   skill,    was 


1.10  ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE. 


owing  the  brilliant  and  decisive  conquests  that  suc- 
ceeded. 

Baza  was  still  defended  with  determined  valor  and 
strength,  drawn  from  the  dependence  of  the  fate  of 
Grenada  upon  the  loss  or  retention  of  this  royal  strong- 
hold. The  Spaniards  again  lost  patience  with  the  pro- 
longed defence,  looked  to  the  queen  f  >r  new  inspira- 
tion, and  believing  her  presence  would  hasten  the 
termination  of  the  siege,  entreated  her  to  join  them. 

Accompanied  by  the  Princess  Isabella,  the  Mar- 
chioness of  Moya,  and  other  ladies  of  her  court,  she 
arrived  at  the  camp  in  November,  the  sixth  month  of 
the  siege.  When  the  Moors  beheld  her  gay  cavalcade 
streaming  from  among  the  mountains,  knowing  what 
a  talisman  of  success  lay  in  her  presence,  they  beat 
their  breasts  in  dismay  and  despair,  exclaiming  "Now 
is  the  fate  of  Baza  decided !" 

"From  the  moment  of  her  appearance,"  says  the 
historian,  "a  change' came  over  the  scene.  No  more 
of  the  cruel  skirmishes,  which  before  had  occurred  every 
day ;  no  report  of  artillery  or  clashing  of  arms  or  any 
of  the  rude  sounds  of  war  were  to  be  heard,  but  all 
seemed  disposed  to  reconciliation  and  peace."  Baza 
almost  immediately  surrendered,  and  the  triumphant 
Christians  entered  the  city  amid  the  firing  of  artillery, 
waving  of  banners  and  the  ringing  of  bells — hateful 
sights  and  sounds. to  the  vanquished.  The  alcaydc, 
who  had  bravely  sustained  the  defence,  was  loaded  with 
civilities  and  presents.  Overcome  by  the  same  kind- 
ness and  sweet  sympathy  which  gave  Isabella  such 
power  over  her  own  subjects,  he  knelt  before  her  in 


ISABELLA    OF    CASTILE.  Ill 


admiration,  and  offered  his  services  in  her  cause  thence- 
forth. She  replied  graciously  and  created  him  one  of 
her  knights. 

The  monarch  El  Zagel,  then  in  a  neighboring  fortress, 
knowing  how  fruitless  resistance  would  be,  resigned 
himself  to  a  fate  he  could  no  longer  avert.  "  What 
Allah  wills  he  brings  to  pass  in  his  own  way.  Had  he 
not  decreed  the  fall  of  Grenada  this  good  sword  might 
have  saved  it ;  but  his  will  be  done !"  exclaimed  the 
fallen  king,  with  the  solemn  gravity  and  unchanging- 
features  characteristic  of  the  Moors. 

Ferdinand  appointed  him  king  of  Andaraz,  subject 
to  the  crown  of  Castile.  This  shadow  of  royalty  could 
not  divert  him  from  his  melancholy  downfall.  In  a 
short  time,  he  resigned  the  despised  crown,  and  left 
the  scenes  that  continually  reminded  him  of  the  de- 
parted glory  of  Grenada.  He  took  refuge  among  the 
Africans,  who  seized  upon  the  riches  he  carried  with 
him,  and  left  him  to  end  his  days  in  extreme  poverty 
and  obscurity. 

Boabdil  was  now  called  upon  to  yield  up  his  capital, 
and  acknowledge  the  supreme  sovereignty  of  Castile 
and  Arragon.  The  inhabitants  of  Grenada  refused  the 
demand,  and  sent  a  message  of  defiance  to  the  con- 
querors. Unwilling  to  open  another  siege  so  late  in 
the  season,  they  returned  to  the  city  of  Seville,  to  re- 
cruit, perfectly  at  ease  in  the  knowledge  that  Grenada 
was  theirs  except  in  name. 

In  the  following  spring,  the  nuptials  of  the  Princess 
Isabella  and  young  Alfonso  of  Portugal,  were  cele- 
brated in  a  succession  of  balls,  fetes  and  tournaments, 


112  ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE. 


which  were  gladly  welcomed  after  the  toils  and  hard- 
ships of  war.  But  the  queen  mingled  in  these  rejoic- 
ings with  a  heavy  heart,  dreading  sepiiration  from  a 
daughter  who  had  enlisted  her  strongest  affections,  and 
who  regarded  her  own  departure  with  equal  and  fore- 
boding sadness. 

Columbus  again  appeared  at  court,  in  the  interval 
of  peace,  to  present  his  claims.  He  was  referred  to  the 
council  of  Salamanca,  which,  after  a  three  years'  con- 
sideration of  the  matter,  had  decided  that  "  the  scheme 
proposed  was  vain  and  impossible  ;  and  that  it  did  not 
become  such  great  princes  to  engage  in  an  enterprise  of 
the  kind,  on  such  weak  grounds  as  had  been  ad- 
vanced." This  was  the  decision  of  Spain's  most  learned 
and  scientific  men  ;  yet  there  was  a  minority  in  the 
council,  of  more  enlightened  views,  who  would  fain 
have  encouraged  the  great  discoverer,  and  so  far  pre- 
vaile  t  on  the  sovereigns  as  to  induce  them  to  hold  out 
promises  of  future  and  more  explicit  attention  to  the 
subject,  when  the  war  of  Grenada  had  ceased. 

In  April,  1491,  the  king  assembled  an  army  of  fifty 
thousand,  to  strike  a  final  blow  that  would  set  his  seal 
upon  the  entire  kingdom  of  Grenada.  Accompanied 
by  Don  Juan,  now  created  a  knight,  and  the  command- 
ers who  had  gained  numberless  honors  during  the  long 
wars,  the  unfailing  Marquis  of  Cadiz,  the  vahant  Count 
Cabra,  Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar,  and  his  brother  Gon- 
salvo  de  Cordova,  of  brilliant  renown  in  the  after  Ital 
lan  campaigns.  With  such  supporters,  King  Ferdi- 
nand once  more  encamped  upon  the  banks  of  Xenil, 
facing  the  royal  city  of  the  Moslems,  the  last  of  all  the 


ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE.  113 


Strongholds  of  the  kingdom  that  remained  free  and  in- 
dependent. Tiie  Yega  stretched  away  from  its  frown- 
ing battlements,  covered  with  a  wild,  entangled  growth 
of  vines,  groves  and  gardens,  whose  beauty  had  beei 
desolated  in  the  long  struggle,  but  had  sprung  up  again 
in  untrained  luxuriance,  in  a  soil  enriched  with  the 
blood  poured  freely  upon  it.  The  river  had  gradually 
withdrawn  from  its  artificial  channels,  rolling  through 
the  plain  as  musically  as  if  a  crimson  tide  never  min- 
gled with  the  pure  waters,  ever  fed  by 

"  the  rillB 
That  like  ribands  of  silver  unwound  from  the  hillfl." 

The  grand  solid  mountains  rising  beyond,  alone  re- 
mained unshaken  and  unchanged,  a  chain  of  unavail- 
ing bulwarks  towards  which  the  eyes  of  every  Moslem 
had  often  turned,  watching  in  dread  and  hatred  the 
coming  of  the  myriads  yearly  poured  forth  from  those 
rugged  defiles. 

This  last  defiant  approach  to  the  very  walls  of  their 
beloved  and  last  remaining  city,  filled  the  Moorish 
knights  with  uncontrollable  vengeance  and  indigna- 
tion. Thousands  of  the  bravest  and  choicest  of  Mos- 
lem chivalry  were  shut  within  its  walls,  determined  to 
sacrifice  their  heart's  blood,  before  they  would  yield 
their  royal  palaces,  or  see  christian  monarchs  seated 
upon  their  throne.  Undaunted  by  the  encircling  foe, 
and  caring  less  for  the  horrors  of  a  famine  than  sub- 
mission to  a  foreign  yoke,  they  daily  sent  forth  the 
best  warriors  to  challenge  the  Spanish  knights  to  com- 
bat upon  the  Vega,  which  became  the  strange  scene  of 
8 


114  ISABELLA    OF   CASTILE. 


innumerable  single-handea  battles  and  daring  exploitftv; 
that  seem  more  the  picturiugs  of  romance  than  the  ter- 
"ible  reality  of  war,  prompted  on  one  side  by  bigotry 
and  on  the  other  by  a  desperate  defence  of  home,  lib- 
erty and  kingdom. 

The  Spariisn  army  met  with  a  disaster  which  proved 
in  the  end  the  speedier  termination  of  the  siege.  Isa- 
bella, who  was  present  in  the  camp,  occupied  a  mag- 
nificent pavilion,  belonging  to  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz, 
which,  with  his  usual  gallantry,  he  had  resigned  to  her 
use.  One  night,  when  all  were  ^^rapped  in  secure 
slumber,  the  cry  of  fire  proceeding  from  the  royal  quar- 
ters, roused  the  whole  camp  to  arms,  supposing  the 
enemy  were  upon  them.  The  flames,  vrhich  had  caught 
in  the  hangings  of  the  queen's  tent,  tTom  a  carelessly 
placed  taper,  spread  with  rapidity,  aud  were  not  ex- 
tinguished till  after  the  loss  of  a  laige  quantity  of 
plate,  jewels  and  brocade,  and  the  costly  decorations 
of  the  pavilions  occupied  by  the  nobility.  Isabella 
herself  narrowly  escaped  injury.  As  a  memorial  of 
her  gratitude  to  God  for  the  preservation,  and  in  token 
of  her  determination  never  to  abandon  the  Vega  till 
Grenada  had  surrendered,  she  caused  a  city  of  substan- 
tial houses  to  be  erected  in  the  place  where  the  en- 
campment stood.  Immediately  the  soldiers  became 
artisans,  and  instead  of 

"  the  shock,  the  shout,  the  groan  of  war," 

the  din  of  industry  went  up  to  the  ears  of  the  amazed 
Moors,  who  beheld  in  the  rising  city  a  token  of  inflexi- 
ble determination  that  it  was  useless  and  fatal  to  com- 


ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE.  115 


bat.  In  less  than  three  months,  La  Santa  F^  was  com 
pleted.  and  was,  long  after,  the  boast  of  the  Spaniards, 
for  its  freedom  from  the  pollution  of  heresy. 

Boabdil  would  have  yielded  at  once,  but  dared  not  op- 
pose the  undiminished  courage  of  the  inhabitants,  who 
were  still  resolved  to  die  in  defence  of  their  last  posses- 
sions, although  fully  aware  of  the  impossibility  of  re- 
taining their  position  eventually.  Secret  negotiations 
were  carried  on,  however,  with  the  king's  vizier,  some- 
times within  the  sacred  precincts  of  the  Alhumbra,  and 
sometimes  at  midnight  in  the  little  village  of  Churriana, 
which  ended  in  Boabdil's  betrayal  of  Grenada  into  the 
hands  of  the  Christians. 

In  the  meantime,  Columbus  had  retired  from  the 
Spanish  court  in  disiiust,  .-jkI  pi-epai-ed  lo  visit  the 
King  of  France,  who  had  written  him  in  an  encourag- 
ing tone.  While  on  his  way  he  was  detained  at  the 
convent  of  La  Eabida,  by  his  friend  the  guardian,  Juan 
Perez,  formerly  confessor  to  the  queen.  Comprehend- 
ing the  greatness  of  Columbus'  designs,  and  anxious 
that  his  sovereigns  should  lose  neither  the  golden 
opportunity  of  extending  their  dominions  to  an  incal- 
culable extent,  nor  the  glory  of  perfecting  the  gigantic 
schemes,  in  defiance  of  the  world's  brand  of  fanaticism, 
he  offered  to  seek  an  interview  with  Isabella,  and  make 
one  more  effort  in  behalf  of  one  with  whom  a  continent 
had  been  unknowingly  i^ejected. 

The  good  monk  arrived  at  Santa  Fe,  and  having 
obtained  an  audience,  eloquently  expostulated  with 
Isabella.  She  became  warmly  interested  in  his  repre- 
sentations, and  urged  by  two  eminent  men  and  the  in- 


116  ISABELLA.   OF   CASTILE. 


telligent  Marchioness  of  Moya,  consented  to  receive  Co- 
lumbus, sending  him  substantial  evidence  of  her  favor 
in  the  presentation  of  a  well-filled  purse,  a  mule,  and 
habiliments  necessary  to  his  appearance  at  court 
Overjoyea  at  the  near  prospect  of  the  consummation 
of  his  hopes,  he  hastened  to  Santa  Fe,  arriving  in  time 
to  witness  the  surrender  of  Grenada. 

Elated  with  success,  the  sovereigns  and  court  were 
ready  to  listen  approvingly  to  new  plans.  Columbus 
appeared  before  them,  adding  the  power  of  his  inspired 
presence,  lofty  demeanor,  and  the  eloquence  of  his 
beaming,  benignant  face  to  persuasions,  in  which  he 
pictured  in  glowing  description  the  realms  he  should 
add  to  their  dominions,  and  the  converts  that  should 
be  made  among  the  heathen,  who  peopled  these  imagi- 
nary regions  in  barbarous  magnificence.  Warriors  and 
courtiers,  knights  and  fair  women,  graced  the  interview, 
some  listening  with  admiration  and  enthusiasm,  others 
scofiing  at  the  eloquent  pleader,  for  presuming  to  re- 
veal his  wild  dreams  in  presence  of  the  majestic  pair, 
more  imposingly  royal  than  ever,  now  that  they  were 
thrice  crowned. 

Isabella  listened  approvingly.  The  thought  of  con- 
verting the  benighted  heathen  in  the  supposed  conti- 
nent, was  a  strong  motive  of  acceptance ;  but  the  cau- 
tious Ferdinand  had  no  idea  of  complying  with  terms 
in  which  Columbus  demanded  "for  himself  and  heirs, 
the  title  and  authority  of  Admiral  and  Viceroy  over  all 
lands  discovered  by  him  with  one  tenth  of  the  profits" 
— terms  which  Talavera,  already  appointed  Archbishop 
of  Grenada,  haughtily  assured  the  king,  "  savored  of 


ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE.  117 


the  highest  degree  of  arrogance,  and  would  be  unbe- 
coming in  their  highnesses  to  grant  to  a  needy  foreign 
adventurer." 

Although  Columbus  saw  the  means  of  accomplishing 
his  great  schemes,  almost  within  his  grasp,  he  proudly 
spurned  every  offer  which  did  not  secure  to  him  the 
titles  and  emoluments  due  to  his  achievements.  Ke- 
fusing  farther  conference,  he  indignantly  left  the  court, 
and  mounting  his  mule,  turned  his  back  upon  the  scene 
of  conquest  that  to  him  seemed  child's  play,  in  compar- 
ison with  the  magnificent  world,  to  whose  shores  he 
would  have  winged  even  a  single  vessel,  had  such  a 
prize  been  within  his  reach,  in  defiance  of  the  super- 
stition which  kept  the  people  aloof  from  his  project, 
and  in  scorn  at  the  fool-hardiness  of  the  learned. 
While  he  angrily  hastened  across  the  Vega  towards 
the  mountain  roads,  his  friends  were  eagerly  expostu- 
lating with  the  queen,  assuring  her  that  he  would  well 
deserve  the  reward  he  asked,  if  he  succeeded,  and,  if 
he  failed,  nothing  would  be  required.  Yielding  at  last 
to  her  own  generous  impulses,  she  determined  not  to 
regard  Ferdinand's  opposition,  or  the  advice  of  over- 
cautious councillors.  "  I  will  assume  the  undertaking 
for  my  own  crown  of  Castile,"  said  she,  ''  and  am  ready 
to  pawn  my  jewels  to  defray  the  exijenses  of  it,  if  the 
funds  of  the  treasury  shall  be  found  inadequate  1" 

A  messenger  was  quickly  dispatched  for  Columbus, 
w^ho  was  overtaken  a  few  leagues  on  his  route.  As- 
sured that  the  orders  came  from  the  queen  herself,  he 
gladly  returned  to  Santa  Fe,  where  he  met  a  gracious 
reception,  and  at  last  received  from  lier  own  lips  the 


118  ISABELLA   OF   CAbTILE. 


acceptance  of  his  terms,  definitely  concluded  April 
17th,  1492.  With  accustomed  promptness,  Isabella 
immediately  gave  orders  for  the  equipment  of  two  ves- 
sels,  the  third  being  provided  by  Juan  Perez  of  La 
Rabida,  and  the  Pinzons,  distinguished  mariners  of  Pa- 
los.  The  fleet  was  manned  with  great  difficulty,  but  at 
length  preparations  were  completed,  and,  on  the  30th 
of  April,  after  partaking  of  the  sacrament  and  confess- 
ing themselves,  Columbus  and  his  motley  crew,  spread 
their  sails  and  floated  away  to  unknown  regions,  from 
which  they  were  never  expected  to  return. 

Grenada  had  surrendered,  and,  at  the  triumphant 
entrance  of  the  Spanish  monarchs,  the  unfortunate 
Boabdil  met  them,  and  would  have  dismounted  to  do 
them  homage,  but  was  hastily  prevented  -and  kindly 
embraced  by  Ferdinand,  and  received  with  cordial  re- 
gard by  Isabella,  who  delivered  to  him  his  son,  detain 
ed  at  the  Spanish  court  as  a  hostage  during  the  last 
years  of  the  war.  Boabdil  then  delivered  up  the  keys 
of  the  Alhambra.  "They  are  thine,  oh  king,  since 
Allah  so  decreed  it;  use  thy  success  with  clemency 
and  moderation,"  said  he  mournfully,  turning  away 
and  passing  through  one  of  the  gates  of  Grenada, 
which  he  requested  might  immediately  be  walled  up, 
that  no  other  should  pass  after  him.  He  began  the 
tedious  route  to  the  Alpuxarras ;  arriving  at  the  last 
eminence  from  which  he  could  behold  the  royal  city, 
he  stopped  and  turned  to  look  upon  its  rich  palaces, 
and  the  beloved,  sacred  Alhambra,  now  desecrated 
with  the  blazing  cross  and  waving  banners  of  the  con- 
querors, gazed  upon  the  wide  Vega  with  its  fragrant 


ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE.  119 


vines  and  orange  groves,  followed  the  windings  of  the 
Xenil,  looked  afar  npon  the  minarets  and  towers  that 
shot  up  from  the  cities  clustered  iij  the  luxurious  plain, 
and  then  at  the  blue  heights  of  the  rocky  barriers  he 
had  thought  a  safeguard  to  his  kingdom,  rudely 
wrenched  from  his  weak  grasp.  The  scene  and  its 
associations  were  too  much  for  the  banished  prince. 
He  covered  his  face  in  his  Moorish  mantle,  and  burst 
into  tears.  "  You  do  well  to  weep  like  a  woman  for 
what  you  could  not  defend  like  a  man,"  exclaimed 
his  haughty,  unfeeling  mother,  adding  the  sting  of  re- 
proach to  his  sorrow.  "Alas!  when  were  woes  ever 
equal  to  mine !"  returned  the  unhappy  prince,  pursu- 
ing his  desolate  journey  to  the  barren  regions  assigned 
to  him  in  lieu  of  his  splendid  possessions.  The  rock 
where  he  stood  and  mourned  his  fate,  is  still  known 
by  the  poetical  appellation  of  JSl  ultimo  sospiro  delmoro, 
"  The  last  sigh  of  the  Moor." 

His  final  career  was  like  that  of  his  uncle  El  Zagel. 
Disgusted  with  his  petty  dominions,  he  sold  them  for 
an  insignificant  sum,  and  passed  into  Fez,  where  he 
fell  in  battle  in  the  service  of  an  African  prince,  "  losing 
his  life  in  another's  cause,  though  he  dared  not  die  in 
his  own." 

The  kingdom  of  Grenada  was  now  wholly  in  posses- 
sion of  the  Christians,  after  a  struggle  through  seven 
hundred  and  forty-one  years,  during  which  the  Ara- 
bian empire  had  lessened  in  every  succeeding  genera- 
tion, ana  finally  absorbed  in  the  Spanish  nation  after 
an  unceasing  war  of  ten  years.  The  event  was  cora- 
memorated  by  processions  and   demonstrations  of  tri- 


120  ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE. 


umph,  not  only  in  Rome  and  many  of  the  cities  of  the 
continent,  but  also  jn  London,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
joy  manifested  throughout  Spain. 

Immediately  after  the  close  of  the  war,  the  death  of 
one  of  its  most  briUiant  supporters  caused  general 
mourning.  The  Marquis  of  Cadiz,  who  had  been  pres- 
ent during  every  campaign,  from  the  surprise  of  Zahara 
to  the  fall  of  Greno.da,  expire^,  the  28th  cf  August, 
1492.  The  king  and  queen,  with  the  court,  wore  deep 
mourning  for  the  cavalier,  who  was  esteemed,  like  the 
Cid,  both  by  friend  and  foe. 

But  a  far  greater  calamity  fell  upon  Spain  at  the 
same  time,  and  a  louder  lamentation  went  up  from 
palace  and  hovel.  After  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  had 
entered  Grenada,  they  issued  an  edict  for  the  expul- 
sion of  the  Jews  from  their  dominions.  The  Inquisi- 
tors represented  the  impossibility  of  their  conversion, 
and  recommended  banishment  as  the  only  method  of 
purging  the  land  of  such  heinous  offenders.  To  send 
from  Spain  a  class  of  people  comprising  the  most  in- 
dustrious and  skilful  of  her  artisans,  and  the  wealthiest 
portion  of  her  subjects,  in  many  cases  intermarried  with 
the  nobility,  seemed  to  Isabella  an  impolitic  measure, 
as  well  as  inhuman  in  tearing  from  their  homes  those 
who  claimed  a  long  line  of  ancestry  in  renowned  Spain, 
where  their  interests  and  affections  were  entirely  cen- 
tred. She  would  nave  rejected  a  proposition  so  re- 
pellant  to  her  kindly,  generous  nature ;  but,  while 
negotiating  with  a  representative  Jew,  who  came  to 
offer  thirty  thousand  ducats,  towards  defraying  the  ex- 
penses of  the  Moorish  war,  thinking  thus  to  gain  favor 


ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE.  12] 


for  his  people,  Torqucmada,  the  inquisitor-general,  rush- 
ed into  the  apartment,  and  holding  up  a  crucifix,  ex- 
claimed, "Judas  Iscariot  sold  his  master  for  thirty 
pieces  of  silver.  Your  highnesses  would  sell  him  anew 
for  thirty  thousand  :  here  he  is:  take  him;  barter  him 
away!"  and,  tlirowing  the  crucifix  down  before  the 
astonished  sovereigns,  fled  from  their  presence.  In- 
stead of  resenting  his  unasked  interference,  they  were 
overawed  by  his  denunciations.  Without  farther  hesi- 
tation, Isabella  afiixed  her  name  to  the  decree,  thus 
again  silencing  the  promptings  of  her  own  better  judg- 
ment, and  in  the  name  of  a  religion  whose  teachers  had 
possessed  themselves  of  her  conscience,  inflicted  an- 
other scourge  upon  the  subjects  who  adored  her,  and 
whose  cries  of  suffering,  if  they  reached  her  ear,  could 
not  swerve  her  from  her  stern  sense  of  duty.  She 
might  have  wept  when  she  saw  them  streaming  forth 
in  little  bands,  after  selling  their  property  at  immense 
sacrifice,  not  knowing  where  to  turn  from  persecution, 
since  all  the  world  spurned  them ;  she  might  have 
been  touched  with  compassion  for  the  sick  and  help- 
less, dragging  over  the  painful  route ;  or  pitied  the 
young  maidens,  educated  in  luxurious  abodes,  and 
sent  forth  homeless ;  or,  when  the  exiles  reached  the 
frontiers,  fainting  with  hunger  and  fatigue,  or  scattered 
through  Portugal,  Italy,  Africa,  and  even  Turkey, 
their  numbers  dwindled  away  in  consequence  of  mur- 
ders, exhaustion  or  the  plague,  which  strewed  their 
pathway  with  the  dead  and  dying —  If  she  could  have 
witnessed  all  this  torture,  tears  might  have  welled  up 
abundantly  from  the  depths  of  her  sensitive  heart,  but 


122  ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE. 


they  would  have  flowed  without  prompting  a  revoca- 
tion of  the  fiat,  any  more  than  the  lamentations  of  the 
Moors  would  have  stayed  her  determination  to  make 
theirs  a  christian  land.  Spain  must  be  cleansed  from 
heresy  !  was  the  continued  teachings  of  the  stern  Tor- 
quemada,  in  her  childhood;  Spain  must  be  cleansed 
from  heresy !  was  his  warning  admonition  in  her  girl- 
hood; Spain  must  and  shall  be  cleansed  from  heresy! 
he  boldly  demanded,  when  she  ascended  the  throne. 
When  we  know  with  what  unquestioning  confidence 
the  Catholics,  to  this  day,  commit  their  consciences  to 
the  keeping  of  confessors,  we  need  not  wonder  at  the 
religious  errors  that  darkened  Isabella's  character,  or 
why  she  should  have  yielded  to  the  advice  of  grim  and 
cruel  monks,  instead  of  regarding  the  dictates  of  her 
own  truer  soul. 

In  the  following  year,  1493,  the  court,  then  residing 
at  Barcelona,  were  struck  with  unutterable  surprise  by 
the  reception  of  letters  from  Columbus,  announcing  his 
return  to  Spain,  and  the  success  of  his  voyage.  Every 
one  was  on  tiptoe  to  see  and  do  honor  to  the  illustrious 
man  who,  a  year  before,  they  had  brushed  past  with 
curling  lip.  Isabella  was  impatient  for  an  interview, 
and  commanded  his  attendance  at  court,  whither  he 
quickly  repaired,  accompanied  by  a  few  Indians  he 
had  brought  with  him,  and  bearing  samples  of  the  vari- 
ous produce  of  the  islands  he  had  discovered,  together 
with  strange  animals,  and  birds  of  gaudy  plumage.  I 
was  the  proudest  moment  of  his  life,  when,  seated  in 
the  presence  of  the  monarchs,  who  received  him  with 
unheard  of  distinction,  and  in  the  hearing  of  the  same 


ISABELLA   OF   CASTIT.K.  128 


learned  scholars  who  formerly  had  looked  upon  him 
as  a  visionary,  denouncing  his  theories  as  silh^  vaga- 
ries, he  gave  a  glowing  description  of  his  discoveries 
in  the  exploration  of  an  ocean  never  before  traversed. 
He  had  torn  aside  the  mystery  that  for  ages  had  veiled 
the  western  horizon,  and  now  that  he  held  up  a  new 
world  to  their  view,  thej^  clothed  it  with  the  golden 
tissue  of  their  imagination,  and  exalted  the  bold  voyager 
as  extravagantly  as  they  had  before  denounced  him. 
Crowds  followed  him  wherever  he  went,  and  he  was 
everywhere  received  with  the  honors  usually  reserved 
for  those  of  noble  birth.  The  poor  Genoese  who,  in 
his  younger  years,  had  sighed  in  vain  for  a  sail  to  wing 
his  material  self  where  his  spirit  daily  wandered,  at 
last  had  realized  his  visions,  and  sat  before  kings,  the 
greatest  conqueror  of  the  age.  He  had  fought  with 
poverty,  contempt,  ridicule,  and  the  derision  of  the 
whole  world ;  he  had  gone  amidst  the  mingled  jeers 
and  pity  of  old,  experienced  navigators  to  combat 
waves,  which  he  was  assured  would  bear  him  to  purga- 
tory, to  the  outskirts  of  the  earth,  or  to  desolate  re- 
gions where  diabolic  imps  would  forever  enchain  him 
with  spells ;  he  had  fought  the  prejudices  of  his  mu- 
tinous crew  and  commanded  them  into  submission. 
He  had  waged  one  long  battle  from  early  youth  to  late 
manhood,  in  which  he  had  gained  a  continent  to  lay  at 
the  feet  of  his  sovereigns.  Well  might  he  bear  his 
honors  with  noble  dignity  ! 

But  no  adulation  or  acknowledgments  were  so  grate- 
ful to  hun  as  the  testimonial  of  regard  for  his  services 
given  by  Isabella.     She  caused  a  fleet  of  seventeen 


124  ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE. 


vessels  to  be  fitted  out  to  promote  his  discoveries.  At 
his  departure,  she  provided,  among  other  stipulations, 
for  the  interests  of  the  heathen,  forbidding  their  being 
seized  as  slaves.  She  enjoined  on  Columbus,  "  to  treat 
them  well  and  lovingly,  and  to  chastise,  in  the  most 
exemplary  manner,  all  who  should  offer  the  natives  the 
slightest  molestation."  These  arrangements  Isabella 
assumed  herself,  since  her  worthy  prelates  could  not 
decide  if  it  would  be  christian  or  not  to  enslave  them ; 
thus  she  evinced  the  justice  of  her  character,  when  ex- 
ercising her  own  judgment. 

News  reached  her  during  his  third  voyage,  in  1498, 
of  the  violation  of  these  especial  charges,  added  to 
other  delinquencies,  all  of  which  were  grossly  misrep- 
resented by  his  enemies.  She  showed  her  deep  dis- 
pleasure at  this,  by  ordering  all  the  Indians  who  had 
been  shipped  to  Spain  to  be  returned  to  their  own 
land,  and  such  as  had  been  sent  to  any  market,  to  be 
restored  immediately.  A  person  called  Boabdil,  was 
also  sent  with  full  powers  to  make  arrests  in  Hispaniola 
of  those  who  had  disobeyed  her  commands ;  making 
the  most  of  his  commission,  he  ordered  the  admiral 
before  him,  and,  putting  fetters  upon  him,  conveyed 
him  to  Spain.  Columbus  bore  these  sad  reverses  with 
the  same  lofty  spirit  in  which  he  had  received  distinc- 
tion ;  but  he  was  quickly  released  on  arriving  in  Spain, 
where  every  one  was  indignant  at  this  outrage  upon 
the  man  to  whom  so  much  was  due.  The  court  was 
residing  at  Grenada,  when  the  king  and  queen,  morti- 
fied and  grieved  at  this  excess  of  their  orders,  and  will- 
ing to  repair  the  indignity,  sent  a  large  sum  of  monoy 


ISAl^EIiLA   OF   CASTILE.  125 


and  rich  habiliments  to  the  discoverer,  with  a  request 
to  appear  at  court.  Hastening  to  Grenada,  he  sought 
the  presence  of  the  benevolent  queen.  At  the  sight 
of  him,  and  at  the  remembrance  of  the  unkind  requi- 
tals, from  her  own  hand  as  it  were,  towards  one  whc 
had  rendered  her  such  glorious  services,  she  could  not 
restrain  her  tears  ;  reaching  forth  her  hand,  she  oftered 
consolatory  words  to  heal  his  wounded  spirit.  Over- 
come with  this  unexpected  reception,  he  threw  himself 
at  her  feet  and  wept  aloud. 

Both  the  king  and  queen  exempted  him  from  the 
blame  which  had  been  attached  to  him  by  enemies,  re- 
stored him  to  his  honors,  and,  in  1502,  sent  him  on  a 
fourth  voyage  of  discovery.  Isabella  was  destined 
never  to  see  his  return  home,  as  accumulated  afflictions 
were  rapidly  undermining  her  constitution. 

The  Princess  Isabella  had,  some  time  before,  been 
deprived  of  her  youthful  husband,  Alfonso  of  Portu- 
gal, after  a  union  of  but  five  months,  his  death  being 
occasioned  by  a  fall  from  his  horse.  She  returned  to 
her  mother,  depressed  with  grief  from  which  nothing 
could  divert  her,  and  the  melancholy  indulgence  of 
which  preyed  upon  her  naturally  delicate  constitution. 
While  Isabella  watched  her  daughter  with  anxious  and 
foreboding  care,  she  was  called  to  the  death-bed  of  the 
queen-dowager,  her  mother,  to  whom  she  had  devoted 
herself  with  dutiful  attention,  notwithstanding  the 
many  cares  that  demanded  her  time. 

A  few  vears  after  the  death  of  Alfonso,  the  Princess 
Fsabella  was  prevailed  upon  to  accept  the  suit  of  Eman- 
uel, King  of  Portugal,  who  became  a  jjassionate  admi- 


126  ISABELLA   OF    CASTILE. 


rer  of  the  sweet  and  gentle  princess,  during  her  resi- 
dence at  Lisbon.  Slie  would  not  give  her  acce])tance 
till  lie  promised  to  expel  every  Jew  from  his  domin- 
ions—a stipulation  that  made  him  hesitate  for  a  time; 
but  he  was  too  fond  of  her  to  allow  such  a  barrier,  and 
accordingly^  the  despised  and  hated  Jews,  who  had 
taken  refuge  there  from  Spain,  were  again  sent  forth 
in  exile. 

Ferdinand  was  too  much  occupied  in  affairs  with  ttie 
French  and  Italians,  to  give  much  heed  to  domestic 
arrangements.  It  was  important,  however,  to  his  poli- 
tic schemes,  to  secure  the  friendship  of  Austria  and 
England,  and  accordingly  family'-  alliances  were  ar- 
ranged, to  cement  the  good  feeling  existing.  In  1-496, 
a  marriage  was  concluded  between  Prince  Juan,  their 
only  son,  and  Mai'gaiite  of  Austria,  and  between  the 
infanta  Joanna  and  Philip,  Archduke  of  Austria,  son 
and  heir  of  the  Emperor  Maximilian;  while  the  young- 
est, infanta  Catherine,  was  affianced  to  Arthur,  Prince 
of  Wales,  both  too  young  to  admit  of  an  immediate 


marriage. 


At  the  close  of  the  summer,  a  gallant  and  beautiful 
armada  was  fitted  out,  ready  to  convey  the  young 
Princess  Joanna  to  foreign  shores.  Isabella,  whose 
affectionate  heart  clung  tenaciously  to  her  children,  ac- 
companied her  daughter  to  the  place  of  embarkation, 
deferring  their  separation  to  the  last  moment  before 
the  fleet  sailed.  After  bidding  farewell  to  her  beloved 
child,  she  returned  in  her  boat  to  the  shore,  but  the 
tide  had  risen  so  rapidly  that  no  dr}^  footing  could  be 
found  for  her  on  the  beach.     The  sailors  were  pre- 


ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE.  12/ 


paring  to  drag  the  boat  farther  upon  the  strand,  when 
Gonsalvo  de  Cardova,  but  lately  returned  from  an 
Italian  campaign,  and  covered  with  honors,  being  pres 
ent,  attired  in  a  rich  and  elegant  court  dress,  gallantly 
waded  into  the  water,  and,  lifting  the  queen  in  his 
arms,  bore  her  safely  to  the  shore,  amid  shouts  of  ap- 
plause from  the  delighted  spectators. 

After  Joanna  had  embarked,  the  weather  became 
tempestuous,  and  the  long  absence  of  the  fleet  without 
tidings,  alarmed  Isabella,  already  overburdened  with 
anxieties.  She  consulted  the  most  experienced  navi- 
gators as  to  the  safety  of  the  fleet,  suffering  distressful 
fears,  till  the  welcome  news  came  of  the  safe  arrival  of 
the  princess  in  Flanders,  though  not  without  the  loss 
of  several  ships,  and  many  of  her  attendants.  Her 
marriage  with  Philip  was  celebrated  with  great  pomp 
in  the  city  of  Lisle.  The  same  fleet  that  bore  her  to 
the  Austrian  prince,  was  to  convey  Margarite  to  Spain. 
After  the  refitment  of  the  vessels,  she  embarked,  and 
arrived  early  in  March  1497,  having  experienced  a  se- 
vere tempest.  She  was  cordially  received  by  the  Span- 
ish monarchs  and  Prince  Juan,  who  eagerly  hastened 
to  meet  her.  The  marriage  was  celebrated  in  April, 
with  magnificence ;  the  ceremony  was  performed  by 
tne  Archbishop  of  Toledo,  in  the  presence  of  the  no- 
bility of  Castile  and  Arragon.  The  event  was  followed 
by  a  continued  round  of  splendid  festivities,  in  which 
Margarite  and  her  Flemish  attendants  participated,  with 
an  easy  gaiety  that  caused  surprise  and  remark  among 
the  stately  and  formal  Spaniards. 

Soon  after  this.  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  attended  the 


128  ISABELLA  OF   CASTILE. 


nuptials  of  their  unusually  loved  daughter  Isabella 
celebrated  without  parade  in  a  little  town  on  the  fron- 
tiers. While  thus  happily  engaged  the  king  and  queen 
received  an  alarming  summons  to  Salamanca,  where 
Prince  Juan  had  become  suddenly  and  dangerously 
ill ;  before  their  arrival,  he  failed  so  rapidly  that  no 
hopes  were  entertained  for  his  recovery.  He  expired 
in  October  l-i97,  in  the  twentieth  year  of  his  age. 

Thus,  at  a  stroke,  the  Spanish  sovereigns  were  de- 
prived of  an  heir,  whose  character  and  education  Isa- 
bella had  carefully  superintended,  in  order  to  prepare 
him  for  the  important  station  he  was  expected  to  fill. 
His  talents  and  admirable  qualities  endeared  him  to  the 
nation,  which  hoped  much  under  the  administration  of 
so  wise,  temperate,  and  benignant  a  prince.  All  Spain 
was  in  mourning,  but  the  affliction  fell  upon  none  so 
heavily  as  the  doting  mother,  who  could  find  no  con- 
solation in  the  vain  splendor  of  royalty.  Her  deep 
piety  alone  prepared  her  to  meet  adversity,  as  it  had 
borne  her  through  prosperity,  without  arrogance.  She 
received  the  mournful  tidings  in  the  touching  language 
of  resignation,  "  The  Lord  hath  given,  and  the  Lord 
hath  taken  away,  blessed  be  his  name !" 

The  succession  now  devolved  upon  the  Queen  of 
Portugal,  but  before  the  formal  recognition  of  hei 
right  had  been  instituted,  death  claimed  her  also. 
This  occurrence,  though  not  so  great  a  national  calam- 
ity as  the  loss  of  Prince  Juan,  was  a  fatal  stroke  to  Isa- 
bella, from  which  she  never  fully  reco\ered.  The 
young  infant  that  cost  its  mother's  life,  was  happil)-  ts 
son,   named   Miguel,  in  honor  of  the  saint's  day  op 


ISABELLA    OF   CASTILE.  129 


which  he  was  bom.  The  delicate,  helpless  child,  un- 
conscious of  its  magnificent  destiny,  was  borne  in  state 
through  the  kingdoms  of  its  inheritance,  to  receive  the 
allegiance  of  the  grandees,  and  amidst  solemn  and 
pompous  ceremonies  was  proclaimed  successor  to  Fei. 
dinand  and  Isabella,  and  to  Emanuel  of  Portugal. 
Thus  above  the  head  of  the  little  sleeper,  almost  hid- 
den in  the  satins  and  costly  lace  of  i-oyal  babyhood, 
were  suspendfed  a  multiplicity  of  crowns  that,  when 
encircling  the  brow  oi"  the  young  prince,  would  make 
him  King  of  Portugal,  Castile,  Arragon,  Navarre,  Gre- 
nada, Naples  and  Sicily.  Too  brilliant  a  destiny  for  a 
cradled  infant,  who,  as  if  already  pierced  with  the 
thorns  that  thickly  line  a  golden  crown,  pined  away 
and  died,  before  it  reached  its  second  year. 

These  successive  calamities  were  overpowering  to 
the  sensitive  queen.  Still,  after  her  recovery  from  a 
severe  illness,  induced  by  her  excessive  grief,  she  con- 
tinued to  exert  herself  for  the  welfare  of  her  subjects, 
and  the  furtherance  of  every  project  for  the  advance- 
ment of  the  nation  and  the  interests  of  religion.  On 
the  death  of  Cardinal  Mendoza,  Archbishop  of  Seville, 
in  1495,  she  appointed  Ximenes  his  successor,  who,  a 
short  time  previous,  had  been  induced  to  accept  tliu 
office  of  confessor  to  her  majesty.  Knowing  nothing 
of  his  new  dignities,  he  was  called  to  the  royal  pres- 
ence, to  open  dispatches  from  the  po[)e.  After  humbly 
kissing  the  missive,  he  broke  the  seal,  and  was  over- 
whelmed to  find  the  contents  addressed  to  himself, 
with  the  title  of  Archbishop  of  Toledo.  Without 
waiting  to  examine  it  farther,  and  exclaiming  "  This 
9 


130  ISABELLA    OF    CASTILE. 


Cannot  be  for  me,"  he  dropped  it  in  consternation  and 
fled  from  the  apartment.  Messengers  were  sent  to 
command  his  return,  but  he  was  not  to  be  found  till  a 
courier  overtook  him  on  his  way  to  the  monastery  at 
Ocana,  whither  he  was  travelling  on  foot  in  the  blazing 
sun,  at  his  best  speed.  He  was  with  difficulty  prevailed 
on  to  return,  but  no  entreaties  of  the  monarchs  could 
induce  him  to  accept  so  high  an  office,  for  which  he 
declared  himself  totally  unfitted,  and  which  would  de- 
prive him  of  his  unobtrusive,  holy  life  in  the  cloisters. 
He  had  been  the  jest  and  the  fear  of  the  gay  courtiers, 
when  now  and  then  his  pale  spectral  face,  and  thin  but 
muscular  form,  came  among  them,  clothed  in  coarse 
garments,  girdled  with  a  rope,  and  all  the  more  hum- 
ble from  its  contrast  with  their  own  gay  trapj)ings. 
For  six  months,  he  steadily  refused  the  appointment, 
till  a  command  of  obedience  arrived  from  the  pope, 
compelling  him  to  occupy  the  chair  of  primacy.  He 
still  continued  to  appear  on  foot,  in  humble  garb,  till 
assured  by  Isabella  that  his  excessive  austerity  and 
plainness  would  degrade  the  office  in  the  eyes  of  the 
people,  he  assumed  the  state  and  magnificence  that 
characterized  his  predecessors.  But,  beneath  his  silken 
robes,  he  kept  his  coarse  Franciscan  dress,  abstained  from 
the  lus.uries  that  daily  loaded  his  table,  and  slept  upon 
a  hard  mattress,  so  arranged  as  to  be  concealed  in  the 
downy  couch  that  was  apparently  his  resting-place. 

Stern,  inflexible,  bigoted,  nothing  could  deter  him 
from  executing  plans  once  formed.  He  began  a  thor- 
ough reformation  in  tlie  monasteries  and  convents, 
into  which  deplorable  vices  and  abuses  bad  crept.    Isa- 


ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE.  181 


bella  countenanced  his  efforts,  notwithstanding  the  gen- 
eral opposition  to  Ximenes'  severity,  often  visiting  the 
convents,  taking  with  her  a  distaff  or  embroidery,  set- 
ting an  example  of  industry,  and  endeavoring  to  purify 
the  frivolous  character  of  the  inmates  by  her  pious  in- 
structions. 

Ximenes  disregarded  the  express  provisions  of  the 
treaty  between  Grenada  and  Castile,  and  undertook 
the  bold  measure  of  converting  the  Moors.  Taking  up 
his  residence  for  a  short  time  in  Grenada,  he  began  by 
collecting  all  the  volumes  of  Moslem  literature  that  he 
could  lay  hands  upon,  reserving  only  a  few  medical 
works  for  his  own  shelves,  and  consigned  the  rest  to 
the  flames  in  a  public  square  in  the  city.  His  daring 
infringement  of  the  people's  rights,  and  inquisitorial 
enforcement  of  a  hated  religion,  occasioned  a  revolt 
which  threatened  his  life ;  but  he  refused  to  fly  for 
safety,  boldly  confronting  the  mob,  and  declaring  his 
willingness  to  endure  martyrdom.  By  the  adroit  in- 
terference of  the  Archbishop  of  Grenada,  \tho  was 
greatly  beloved  by  the  inhabitants,  the  disturbance 
was  quelled,  and,  in  the  end,  Ximenes  triumphed. 

Isabella  was  greatly  incensed   at   his   high-handed 
measures,  and  wrote  him  a  severe  hitter,  to  which  he 
replied  by  his  presence,  ascribing  his  conduct  to  a  wor 
thy  zeal  for  the  conversion  of  the  infidels.     He  reeoni 
mended  that  the  sovereigns  should  condemn  the  delin 
quents  for  treason ;  and  offer  them  pardon  on  conditio] 
of  renouncing  their  faith.     Isabella  did  not  accept  ihif^ 
advice,  yet  imprisoned  the  leaders  of  the  revolt.     Many. 
from  fear,  emigrated,  and  the  panic  led  nearly  all  the 


132  ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE. 


remaining  inhabitants  to  accept  the  Catholic  belief 
AH  Christendom  was  astonished  at  this  "  miracle" — 
the  more  wonderful  from  the  well-known  hatred  its 
subjects  entertained  for  the  religion  they  had  assented 
to.  Ximenes  was  henceforth  venerated  as  a  saint,  hit' 
admirers  asserting  that  he  "had  achieved  greater  tri- 
umphs than  even  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  since  the^ 
had  conquered  ordy  the  soil,  while  he  had  gained  the 
souls  of  Grenada." 

In  1500,  the  birth  of  a  son,  the  celebrated  Charles 
v.,  to  Philip  and  Joanna,  gave  universal  joy,  and  as, 
on  the  death  of  the  Queen  of  Portugal  and  her  heirs, 
the  succession  would  devolve  on  the  young  infant 
through  Joanna,  the  Spanish  monarchs  requested  the 
presence  of  the  child's  parents  in  Spain,  that  their  right 
might  be  recognized.  Philip  did  not  comply  with  the 
invitation  till  the  following  year,  being  too  much  occu- 
pied in  the  pursuit  of  pleasure,  to  secure  his  interests. 
The  tour  was  finally  made,  accompanied  by  brilliani 
fetes  and  rejoicings  throughout  the  nation.  Arrived 
at  Toledo,  where  the  court  then  was,  Philip  so  betrayed 
his  aversion  to  business,  and  his  dislike  to  the  stateli- 
ness  of  Castilian  ceremonies,  as  to  alarm  the  sovereigns 
concerning  his  capability  to  occupy  the  Spanish  throne. 
Isabella  was  more  deeply  grieved  in  noting  his  open 
neglect  of  her  daughter,  whom  she  again  clasped  in 
her  arms  after  a  long  separation,  listening  with  painful 
solicitude  to  a  weeping  account  of  his  infidelity,  and 
his  repulsion  of  a  heart  that  clung  to  him  with  tena- 
cious affection,  and  was  unappreciated  by  him  be(  ause 
encased  m  so  plain  a  setting. 


ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE.  138 


As  soon  as  Joanna  was  duly  recognized  heir  to  tlie 
Spanish  crown,  by  the  cortes  of  Castile  and  Arragon, 
Philip,  impatient  at  the  restraint  upon  his  free  habits, 
and  despising  the  formalities  of  the  court,  intimated  his 
intention  to  set  out  immediately  for  France.  This  was 
warmly  opposed  by  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  who  rep- 
resented to  him  the  importance  of  remaining  long 
enough  to  become  familiar  with  the  usages  and  inter- 
ests of  their  kingdom,  and  to  secure  the  good-will  of 
his  fature  subjects;  besides,  Joanna's  delicate  health 
required  repose,  and  the  open  war  with  France  might 
expose  him  to  an  uncivil  reception.  He  persisted  in 
his  determination,  leaving  Joanna,  who  was  unable  to 
accompany  him,  inconsolable.  From  the  moment  of 
the  departure  of  her  idolized  husband,  she  fell  into  a 
deep  melancholy,  from  which  nothing  could  arouse 
her.  The  birth  of  a  son,  named  Ferdinand  in  honor 
of  the  king,  did  not  dispel  her  strange  mood,  but  each 
day  gave  more  decisive  proof  of  mental  derangement. 

This  was  an  additional  grief  to  Isabella,  whose  health 
was  rapidly  failing  under  her  accumulated  sorrows  and 
cares,  aggravated  by  the  exposures  and  fatigue  to  which 
she  was  subject  in  being  frequently  called  to  Joanna, 
who  resided  at  Medina  del  Campo.  She  was  sum- 
moned, on  one  occasion,  when  no  one  could  prevail 
upon  the  unfortunate  princess  to  return  to  her  apart- 
ments, after  mounting  the  battlements  of  the  castle,  in 
a  fit  of  insanity.  She  consented  to  take  shelter  in  a 
miserable  kitchen,  in  the  neighborhood,  but,  at  day- 
light, returned  to  the  castle  walls,  where  she  stood  im- 
movable as  a  statue,  till  Isabella  arrived,  aod  exerted 


134  ISABELLA   OF   CASTILfi. 


her  authority  in  removing  her.  In  a  few  months,  she 
returned  to  Flanders,  notwithstanding  her  mother's 
unwiUingness  to  trust  her  to  the  journey  during  the 
inclement  season,  and  while  the  country  was  agitated 
with  warlike  preparations  to  further  the  conquests  of 
Gonsalvo  de  Cordova,  in  Italy. 

Still  inconsolable  for  the  loss"  of  her  most  cherished 
daughter,  the  amiable  and  beautiful  Queen  of  Portugal : 
missing,  with  a  mother's  yearning  tenderness,  those 
who  had  been  destined  to  a  foreign  land ;  and  daily 
probed,  to  the  utmost  depths  of  her  tried  heart,  with 
painful  accounts  of  slander,  and  disgraceful  scenes  en- 
acted by  the  unhappy  Joanna,  at  the  Flemish  court ; 
together  with  anxiety  for  the  issue  of  the  impending 
war,  and  letters  from  the  New  World,  exciting  her  ac- 
tive sympathies  for  the  welfare  of  the  poor  Indians — all 
this  drew  too  heavily  upon  her  already  exhausted  con- 
stitution, and  prostrated  her  on  a  bed  of  sickness  from 
which  she  was  never  to  rise.  Her  life  was  slowly  con- 
sumed by  a  fever,  not  lessened  by  her  solicitude  for 
Ferdinand,  who  was  seriously  ill  at  the  same  time. 
She  still,  \vith  surprising  energy,  attended  to  business, 
receiving  all  who  sought  an  interview  as  she  had  been 
accustomed  to  do  when  in  health,  but  particularly  at- 
tending to  affairs  relating  to  the  welfare  of  her  subjects 
when  she  should  no  longer  be  with  them.  Among  her 
last  words,  were  earnest  injunctions  to  enforce  kind- 
ness and  justice  towards  the  Indians,  whose  condition 
had  greatly  excited  her  interest  and  pity.  The  con- 
tinued violation  of  her  early  commands,  was  concealed 
from  her,  and  the  suspicion  of  this  induced  her  to  make 


ISABELLA   OF   CASTILE.  135 


them  the  subject  of  a  codicil  to  her  will,  two  days  be- 
fore her  death. 

Owing  to  the  incapacity  of  Joanna  to  occupy  the 
throne,  she  appointed  Ferdinand  regent  of  Castile  until 
the  majority  of  her  grandson,  Charles  V.,  influenced  ir 
so  doing  by  her  declared  confidence  in  Ferdinand's 
"  wise  and  beneficent  rule."  She  also  touchingly  ex- 
pressed her  affection  for  him  in  the  words  which  be- 
queathed to  him  some  of  her  personal  property,  "I 
beseech  the  king,  my  lord,  that  he  will  accept  all  my 
jewels,  or  such  as  he  shall  select,  so  that,  seeing  them, 
he  may  be  reminded  of  the  singular  love  I  always  bore 
him  while  hving,  and  that  I  am  now  waiting  for  him 
in  a  better  world ;  by  which  remembrance  he  may  be 
encouraged  to  live  more  justly  and  holily  in  this." 
The  same  jewels,  perhaps,  not  long  after  served  to  adorn 
a  young,  beautiful  bride,  the  Princess  Germain  de  Foix 
of  France,  whom  the  unfaithful  and  politic  Ferdinand 
led  to  the  altar,  in  the  same  Duenas,  where,  in  his  youth, 
he  had  given  his  fresh  vows  to  the  devoted  Isabella. 

Having  addressed  a  few  words  of  consolation  to  the 
weeping  friends  about  her,  some  of  whom  had  been  the 
companions  of  her  youth,  she  received  the  sacrament, 
and  soon  after  expired,  November  26th,  1504,  it  being 
the  fifty-fourth  year  of  her  age  and  the  thirtieth  of  her 
reign.  Her  remains  were  conveyed  to  Grenada,  as 
she  had  requested,  but  during  the  journey  a  severe  anu 
long-continued  tempest  made  the  roads  nearly  impassa- 
ble, rendering  the  way  desolate,  and  depressing  with 
still  deeper  gloom,  those  who  bore  her  beloved  form  to 
its  plain  tomb  in  the  Alhambra. 


186  ISABELLA  OF  CASTILK. 


"  To  that  unfathomed,  boundless  sea, 
The  silent  grave ! 

Thither  all  earthly  pomp  and  boast 
Roll,  to  be  swallowed  up  and  lost 
In  one  dark  wave." 


The  people  vied  with  each  other  in  extolling  the  tn- 
umphant  glories  of  her  reign,  and  the  wisdom  and  pu- 
rity of  her  character — one  that  scarcely  deserves  the 
charge  of  bigotry,  since  the  two  great  errors  of  her  ad- 
ministration were  measures  which  she  abhorred,  and 
would  never  have  allowed  to  be  executed,  had  not  her 
judgment  been  overruled  by  those  upon  whom  she  re- 
lied for  spiritual  guidance. 

Uniting  the  noblest  masculine  qualities  with  the 
finest  and  most  lovable  characteristics  of  woman,  she 
secured  the  love  and  devotion  of  a  nation  still  proud 
of  that  incomparable  queen,  upon  whom  was  justly  be- 
stowed theUj  as  now,  the  simple  but  eloquent  designa- 
tion— "  Isabella  de  la  paz  y  bontad" — Isabella  of  peace 
and  goodness  I 


JOAN  OF  AEG. 


>  >  9  .a  3 


J    >  5 


\<y' 


'/\^^  'p^ 


^.- 


fnati  nf  %n. 

"  Monarch  of  Fraace  I 
Send  thou  the  tidings  over  all  the  realm. 
Great  tidings  of  deliverance  and  of  joy  ; 
The  maid  is  come,  the  mission'd  maid,  whose  hand 
Shall  in  the  consecrated  walls  of  Rheims 
Crown  thee,  anointed  king!" — Southey's  Joan  of  Abo. 

In  this  age  of  intelligence  and  refinement,  of  the 
arts,  of  commerce,  political  science  and  Christianity,  it 
is  difl&cult  to  believe  that  so  few  years,  comparatively, 
have  elapsed,  since  superstition  threw  her  dark  pall  over 
all  that  is  now  bright  and  attractive.  The  period  is  not 
very  remote,  when  the  most  trivial  events  were  pre- 
sumed to  be  of  an  unearthly  or  supernatural  character  ; 
when  it  was  rare,  indeed,  that  any  man,  however  much 
in  advance  of  his  age  in  knowledge,  had  the  boldness  to 
attribute  an  unforeseen  and  extraordinary  occurrence, 
though  susceptible  of  the  fullest  explanation,  to  its 
proper  and  legitimate  cause. 

Among  the  polytheists  of  Greece  and  Rome,  to  doubt 
the  interposition  of  these  numerous  divinities  in  the 
cominouest  concerns  of  life,  was  the  worst  grade   of 


140  JOAN   OF  ARC. 


treason  to  the  state.  They  believed,  as  they  were 
taught  by  the  religion  in  which  they  placed  their  trust, 
and  by  its  priests  whom  they  reverenced,  that  every 
water-fall  had  its  nymph,  every  grove  its  dryad, — that 
there  was  a  deity  to  smile  upon  every  folly,  to  encour- 
age every  unholy  passion,  or  to  strengthen  every  vir- 
tuous hope  and  noble  aspiration.  In  the  "dim,  re- 
ligious light"  of  a  later  era,  popular  credulity  clung 
with  less  tenacity  to  the  forms  and  ceremonies,  than  to 
the  substance  of  superstition.  Astrology  was  mistaken 
for  astronomy ;  philosophy  and  magic  were  synonv- 
mous  terms ;  palmistry  and  necromancy  were  ranked 
among  the  sciences  ;  the  belief  in  ghosts  and  witches 
was  general;  ancient  wood  and  castle  were  peopled 
with  spirits  and  hobgoblins ;  bright-eyed  elves  beset 
the  path  of  the  lonely  wayfarer ;  and  light-footed  fai- 
ries danced  the  livelong  night  upon  the  green. 

The  French  historian,  speaking  of  this  period,  says : 
"  Henceforward,  diablerie  had  little  to  learn,  but  was 
soon  erected  into  a  science.  Demonology  brought  forth 
witchcraft.  It  was  not  sufficient  to  be  able  to  distin- 
guish and  classify  legions  of  devils,  to  know  their 
names,  professions  and  dispositions ;  it  was  necessary 
to  learn  how  to  make  them  subservient  to  the  uses  of 
man.  Hitherto,  the  object  studied  had  been  the  means 
of  driving  them  away;  from  this  time,  the  means 
of  making  them  appear,  was  the  end  desired.  Witches^ 
sorcerers,  demonologists,  started  up  beyond  all  number. 
Each  clan  in  Scotland,  each  great  family  in  France  and 
Germany,  almost  each  individual,  had  one  of  these 
tempters,  who  heard  all  the  secret  wishes  one  feared  to 


JOAN   OF   ARC.  141 


addiess  to  God,  and  the  thoughts  which  shunned  the 
ear.  They  were  everywhere.  Their  flight  of  bats  al- 
most darkened  God's  own  light  and  day.  They  had 
been  sent  to  carry  off  in  open  day  a  man  who  had  just 
received  the  communion,  and  who  was  watched  by  a 
circle  of  friends  with  lighted  tapers." 

Sach  was  the  character  of  the  age — made  up  of  cre- 
dulity and  superstition — prone  to  believe  and  trust  in 
the  strange  and  the  marvellous — ready  to  grasp  super- 
natural aid,  when  human  efforts  failed; — such  was 
France  when,  at  the  death  of  her  maniac  king,  Charles 
VI.,  a  bloody  struggle  for  the  crown  commenced  be- 
tween the  various  competitors  and  their  adherents — a 
strugo-le  prolonged  from  a  want  of  skilful  military  lead- 
ers, and  the  superstitious  belief  of  all  parties,  in  omens 
preceding  a  conflict  which  depressed  them  with  coward- 
ly fear,  or  elated  them  with  reckless  courage,  according 
to  the  import  of  the  signs.     Chance  decided  the  victory. 

The  rival  houses  of  Orleans  and  Burgundy  were  the 
instigators  of  the  civil  war  that  desolated  France,  en- 
listing the  aid  of  foreigners  v/ho- threatened  to  subjugate 
the  nation  to  British  power.  Charles  the  dauphin, 
sixth  son  of  the  deceased  monarch,  and  claimant  of  the 
crown,  strengthened  the  Orleans  party  by  marrying  a 
daughter  of  Count  Armagnac,  "  a  Gascon  nobleman  of 
influence  in  his  rude  land,  warlike,  fierce  and  not  unfit- 
ted to  lead  a  party  in  those  days  of  open  strife."  On  the 
other  hand  the  young  Duke  of  Burgundy,  in  revenge 
for  the  murder  of  his  father,  in  which  Charles  had  par- 
ticipated, offered  the  crown  of  France  to  Henry  V.,  of 
England,  already  upon  their  shores  with  a  well-disci- 


142  JOAN   OF  ARC. 


plined  army,  in  answer  to  the  call  of  the  old  duke.  In 
accepting  the  tendered  throne,  he  espoused  Catherine, 
the  daugliterof  Charles  VI.,  but  before  his  young  head 
bore  the  weight  of  a  double  crown,  he  died,  leaving 
an  infant  son,  Henry  VI.,  with  the  Duke  of  Bedford, 
at  Paris,  to  rival  the  claims  of  the  "  little  king  of  Bour- 
ges,"  as  Charles  was  called  in  derision  by  his  enemies. 
And  indeed  this  raillery  was  not  amiss,  for  the  dau- 
phin was  sorely  straitened  in  his  resources,  being 
scarcely  able  to  furnish  his  table.  He  was  naturally 
amiable  and  weak  in  character,  yet  adversity  lent  him 
courage  and  prudence  that  served  him  in  time  of  need, 
but  relaxed  into  effeminate  ease  when  his  foes  granted 
him  tranquillity.  His  army  was  made  up  of  the  sturdy 
Scotch  retainers  of  the  Earl  of  Buchan,  soldiers  from 
Italy  and  Spain,  the  fierce,  cruel  Armagnacs,  and  such 
of  the  French  as  supported  his  claims,  though  he 
placed  little  dependence  on  the  unskilled  troops  of  his 
own  nation.  France  was  thus  overrun  with  a  foreign 
soldiery  who  made  up  for  their  lack  of  enthusiasm  in 
the  cause  which  they  supported,  by  the  hearty  eager- 
ness with  which  they  pillaged  the  towns,  cities  and 
hamlets,  that  fell  into  their  hands.  There  was  scarce  a 
river  in  France  but  had  rolled  a  crimson  tide  through 
its  channel,  or  borne  the  mangled  corse  of  friend  and 
foe  to  low,  quiet  valleys,  terrifying  the  simple  inhabi- 
tants and  warning  them  that  strife  and  bloodshed  were 
near.  Neither  age  nor  sex  were  spared  the  inhuman 
butchery.  Scarce  an  humble  cottage  but  had  wrongs 
to  revenge,  and  not  a  palace  or  castle  had  escaped  the 
mournful  loss  of  some  of  the  noblest  blood  of  France, 


JOAN   OF  ARC.  143 


as  often  spent  in  petty  vengeance  as  on  the  field  of 
battle. 

The  English,  supported  by  the  Burgundian  party, 
succeeded  in  capturing  every  town  north  of  the  Seine, 
driving  Charles  und  his  adherents  beyond  the  Loire. 
Had  the  Englisli  now  unitedly  pushed  their  conquests, 
France  would  have  been  completely  subjugated.  Their 
strength  was  destroyed,  however,  by  private  feuds  and 
jealousies  which  finally  obliged  the  Duke  of  Bedford 
to  return  to  England,  leaving  Charles  VII.  in  a  com- 
parative state  of  tranquillity.  Orleans  was  the  last 
stronghold  left  him,  and  in  that  city  and  the  surround 
ing  region  his  remaining  followers  stationed  themselves. 
The  king,  so  far  from  making  defensive  preparations 
and  accumulating  forces  in  the  two  years'  interval  of 
peace,  spent  the  time  in  distant  chateaux,  luxuriating 
in  ease  and  pleasure,  utterly  regardless  of  the  petty  in- 
trigues and  struggles  for  power  that  daily  weakened 
his  party. 

But  all  these  years  of  turrnoil  and  war  and  supersti- 
tion, were  schooling  a  daring  spirit  to  uphold  the  vic- 
torious banners  of  France — not  a  noble  youth  learning 
the  tactics  of  war  at  the  side  of  a  chieftain  father  ;  not 
a  young  Tell  gathering  vigor  in  the  strong  mountain 
air,  and  practising  eye  and  hand  to  unerring  archery : 
nor  a  bold  genius  whose  military  talent  was  to  place 
him  at  the  head  of  the  armies  of  France, — but  a  simple, 
gentle,  peasant  girl,  instigated  by  imaginary  saints  and 
angels. 

Joan  of  Akg  or  Jeanne  d'Arc,  ^^  La  Pucelle  (V  Or- 


144  JOAN  OF  ARC. 


han^''  according  to  the  old  chroniclers,  was  born  in  the 
department  of  Vosges,  in  northern  France,  in  the  year 
1411  or  1412.  Her  fjimilj  name  is  said  to  have  been 
written  Dare.  She  was  the  third  daugliter  of  an  hon- 
nest  and  worthy  husbandman,  bearing  the  name  of 
Jacques  d'Arc,  who,  though  a  native  of  Montiereu- 
Der,  at  the  time  of  her  birth,  dwelt  in  the  pretty  little 
village  of  D(jm-Remy,  which  lies  in  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  valleys  of  the  winding  Meuse,  between  the 
towns  of  Neufchateau  and  Vaucouleurs,  and  on  the 
borders  of  Lorraine  and  Champagne.  In  this  lovely 
and  fruitful  region  she  first  saw  the  light.  Her  quiet 
and  pleasant  home,  the  rich  pasture-lands  that  girt  it 
as  with  a  belt  of  emeralds,  the  neighboring  groves  of 
beech  and  chestnut,  where  fairy  forms  were  seen  to  flit 
and  fairy  voices  whispered ;  the  balloon-shaped  hills 
of  the  Vosges  which  stretched  far  away  to  the  land  of 
the  vine  and  the  olive,  and  the  dark  forests  of  oak  and 
fir  that  crowned  their  summits,  shaking  and  bowing 
their  stately  tops  in  the  fragrant  breezes  from  the  pur- 
ple vineyards  and  the  smiling  slopes  of  Burgundy, — 
these  were  all  the  world  to  her,  through  the  quiet  and 
peculiarly  meditative  years  of  her  childhood.  The 
sweet-toned  bells  in  the  chapel  of  our  Lady  of  Belle- 
mont  lulled  her  infant  slumbers  with  their  musical 
chimes ;  and,  as  she  grew  older,  her  young  mind  ex- 
panded in  an  atmosphere  of  legends  and  myths,  of 
saints  and  fairies,  that  gave  a  wild  and  boundless  range 
to  a  naturally  vivid  imagination.  Her  mother,  in 
whom  a  superstitious  piety  was  strongly  implanted, 
kept  the  little  ones  quiet  while  she  plied  the  humming 


JOAN   OF   AKC.  146 


distaff,  by  telling  tliem  tales  of  valiant  knights  and 
"faire  ladyes"  carried  oil"  by  demons,  or  visited  by 
angels  and  attended  by  a  troop  of  fairies — all  which 
the  little  listeners  most  devoutly  believed.  The  young 
Joan  never  lost  a  word  of  the  wonderful  legends,  stor 
ing  them  in  her  memory  till  her  brain  became  peopled 
with  imaginary  beings,  who  accompanied  all  her  lonely 
rambles  ;  whose  voices  whispered  to  her  in  the  stirring 
leaves  of  the  forests ;  whose  forms  were  wreathed  in 
the  mists  of  waterfalls,  and  whose  tones  were  as  audi- 
ble to  her  sensitive  ear,  in  the  gushing  music  of  wind- 
ing streams,  as  they  had  been  in  the  sweet  tones  of  her 
mother's  voice  when  united  with  the  dreamy  hum  of 
the  spinning-wheel. 

She  never  danced  and  sung  like  the  other  maidens  in 
the  hamlet,  nor  joined  in  their  merry  sports,  but  prefer- 
red to  steal  away  by  herself  and  tell  over  beads,  to  kneel 
in  a  shaded  aisle  of  the  chapel,  and  breathe  her  baptis- 
mal vows,  at  the  sacred  shrine,  or  at  the  hour  of  ves- 
pers devoutly  repeat  the  compline  before  a  favorite 
picture  of  the  virgin.  But  if  she  did  not  mingle  with 
gay  playmates  at  the  sound  of  the  viol,  she  could  boast 
of  a  neat  and  nimble  use  of  the  needle,  and  could  ply 
the  distaff  with  speed  equal  to  her  mother's.  Reading 
and  writing  were  unsolved  riddles  to  her,  for  these 
were  accomplishments  known  on^y  to  the  clergy,  to 
those  of  gentle  birth,  or  to  such  as  depended  on  them 
for  a  livelihood ;  and  there  were  many  a  peerless  dame 
and  gallant  knight,  who  deemed  these  performances 
an  unbecoming  labor,  and  kept  servants  in  the  house- 
hold to  do  such  menial  of&ces. 
10 


146  JOAN  OF  ARC. 


It  is  asserted  bv  some,  that  Joan  was  a  servant  in  a 
road-side  inn,  and  tended  the  horses  and  the  guests,  in 
the  capacity  of  an  L ostler,  and  that  she  rode  them  to 
the  watering-places,  thus  acquiring  great  skill  in  horse- 
manship. These  facts  are  not  well  authenticated,  how- 
ever, and  they  certainly  are  not  in  keeping  with  the 
gentleness,  modesty,  and  delicacy  of  her  character.  It 
is  related  by  others,  that  she  tended  her  father's  flocks 
and  herds  while  they  grazed  on  the  mountain  side,  a 
not  improbable  occupation  and  a  very  common  one  in 
the  valley  of  the  Meuse.     Here  upon  the  slopes, 

"  With  gorse-flower  glowing,  as  the  sun  illumed 
Their  goldea  gloiy," 

she  rested  the  livelong  day,  watching  the  grazing  herds, 
and  looking  down  upon  the  picturesque  valley,  bor- 
dered with  a  vast  forest,  its  green  meadows,  luxuriant 
vineyards,  the  river  with  its  wooded  banks,  and  her 
own  loved  hamlet  in  the  midst,  invoking  good  spirits 
to  guard  it  against  the  ravages  of  war,  nor  let  the 
clash  and  din  of  weapons  echo  among  the  blue  hills 
that  shut  in  the  peaceful  valley.  But  the  occasional 
traveller  brought  tidings  of  unjust  and  murderous 
deeds,  and,  as  Joan's  spirit  began  to  break  away  from 
the  enfoldings  of  childhood,  her  lonely  day-watches 
were  occupied  with  burning  thoughts  of  her  country's 
wrongs  ;  she  longed  to  pass  beyond  the  hills  where  she 
was  born,  and  mingle  in  the  mortal  strife.  Her  pale 
cheek  crimsoned  when  she  heard  the  story  of  helpless 
women  falling  beneath  the  battle-axe,  and  children 
diiven  forth  to  suffer  the  horrors  of  famine,  that  theii 


JOAN   OF  ARC.  147 


cries  might  intimidate  the  stout  hearts  of  their  fathers, 
and  make  them  yield  their  strongholds. 

And  when,  at  last,  a  troop  of  fieree  soldiers  came 
with  victorious  shouts  along  the  'Meuse,  to  the  very 
heart  of  the  sacred  valley,  and  Joan  and  the  humble 
household  had  to  flee  for  safety,  then  the  martial  spirit 
pervaded  her  being  and  was  henceforth  inseparable 
from  the  religious  fervor  that  actuated  her  in  freeino 
France  from  her  enemies.  The  fugitives  returned  to 
the  unobtrusive  village  and  found  the  beloved  chapel 
in  ruins.  This  wanton  destruction  of  her  favorite  and 
holy, resort,  awakened  a  new  feeling  of  heroism  in 
Joan  which,  with  unfixed  purpose,  only  awaited  eventi 
which  should  direct  her. 

In  the  vicinity  of  Domreiny  w;i,s  a  large  old  tree, 
whose  immense,  thickly -foliaged  branches  overspread 
a  wide  green  sward.  It  had  stood  through  many  gene- 
rations, and  legend  upon  legend  hallowed  its  remem- 
brances. To  the  young  people  it  was  known  as  "  th-^ 
tree  of  the  Ladies,"  and  "Beauty  of  Ma}^,"  and  tra- 
dition said  the  fairies  used  to  meet  and  converse  with 
brave  knights,  who,  in  later  times,  had  become  so 
wicked,  that  the  ^inrites  refused  to  appear  to  any  but 
the  good  and  virtuous.  At  early  dawn  the  maidens 
of  Domremy  traced  the  footprints  of  the  fairies  where 
they  had  danced  all  night  beneath  the  great  tree  ;  and 
they  hung  garlands  upon  the  branches,  wishing  they 
might  get  a  glimpse  of  the  forms  that  Joan  assured 
them  she  had  seen,  and  whose  voices  whispered  mys- 
terious things  to  her.  Near  by  was  also  a  fountain, 
called  the  "  Fountain  of  the  Fairies,"  and  here   the 


148  JOAN   OF  ARC. 


voung  girl  lingered  for  liours,  till  she  saw  the  mist_y 
waters  take  shape  and  beheld  the  holy  features  of  St. 
Margaret  or  St.  Catherine,  beaming  kindly  upon  her, 
and  heard  them  iu  -a  low,  soft  voice  call  her  "  the  res- 
torer of  France,"  and  felt  them  affectionately  embra- 
cing her. 

This  she  related  to  her  parents  and  the  village 
maidens,  but  it  only  excited  their  derision,  since  none 
of  them  were  equally  fortunate.  She  solemnly  chided 
them  for  their  unbelief,  for  she  evidently  had  faith  in 
these  visions — the  result  of  a  morbid  imagination, 
dwelling  constantly  upon  one  theme. 

After  the  intelligence  of  the  marvellous  success  of 
the  English,  and  the  retreat  of  Charles  VII.  beyond  the 
Loire,  had  startled  the  quiet  laborers  in  the  valle}',  and 
become  the  theme  at  every  cottage  door  or  fireside, 
Joan's  visions  became  more  vivid,  and  in  her  daily 
visits  to  the  fountain  she  discovered  the  mission  which 
the  angels  had  devolved  upon  her.  St.  Michael,  "  the 
archangel  of  battles  and  of  judgments,"  appeared  in 
the  midst  of  a  dazzling  light,  saying,  "  Jeanne,  go  to 
the  succor  of  the  King  of  France,  and  thou  shalt  restore 
his  kingdom  to  him.  St.  Marguerite  and  St.  Catherine 
will  be  thy  aids."  A  host  of  angels  in  white,  wearing 
crowns,  and  speaking  in  soft  voices,  followed  the  ap- 
pearance of  St.  Michael ;  and  when  they  had  all  disap- 
peared the  timid  girl  wept  abundantly,  wishing  they 
had  taken  her  with  them. 

Several  years  had  passed  in  this  way,  ccjnfirming 
Joan's  belief  in  these  messages  and  commands  from 
(rod,    as   she   denominated   them.      She    obeyed   the 


JOAN    OF   ARC.  149 


voices,  which  directed  her  to  attend  church  faithfully 
and  perform  all  her  duties.  She  was  known  to  all  the 
villagers  in  her  pious  and  charitable  acts,  and  her 
youthful  friend  Haumette  assured  her  companions  that 
Joan  was  a  good,  simple  girl,  and  always  talked  of  God 
and  the  angels.  She  entered  maidenhood,  pure  and 
beautiful,  the  impress  of  her  unsullied  thoughts  stamped 
upon  her  pale  calm  face,  full  of  childish  iimocence,  yet 
adorning  a  mind  of  rare  sense  and  shrewdness. 

Both  her  mother  and  father  reproved  her  firm  belief 
in  the  mission  that  had  been  given  her,  and,  with  alarm, 
found  her  already  practising  military  exercises,  mounted 
upon  a  horse  and  tilting  her  lance  against  trees,  as  if  in 
knightly  combat.  Her  father  declared  that,  rather  than 
see  his  daughter  among  men-at-arms,  he  would  drown 
her  with  his  own  hands.  Hoping  to  divert  her  from 
her  wild,  unwomanly  schemes,  her  parents  used  their 
authority  to  secure  her  marriage.  A  young  man  de- 
clared she  had  promised  him  her  hand  in  childhood, 
and,  to  enforce  his  claims,  cited  her  before  the  ecclesias- 
tical Judge  of  Toul.  This  they  thought  would  frighten 
her  into  acceptance,  since,  with  her  timidity  and  mod- 
esty that  suffused  her  face  with  blushes  at  a  word  from 
a  stranger,  she  could  never  summon  courage  to  defend 
herself  To  their  surprise,  she  appeared  in  court,  and 
declared  the  falsity  of  the  charge. 

A  visit  from  an  uncle  at  length  secured  an  opportu- 
nity for  her  to  execute  her  purpose.  He  was  convinced 
of  her  divine  mission,  and  promised  to  take  her  to 
Robert  de  Baudricourt,  captain  of  Vaucouleurs,  to 
whom  St.  Michael  had  directed  her  for  aid.     Bidding 


150  '  JOAN  OF  ARC. 


farewell  to  her  beloved  home,  her  cherished  mother, 
and  dear  companion  Haumette,  she  journeyed  with  her 
uncle  to  Vaucouleurs,  in  her  simple  peasant's  costume, 
a  coarse  red  dress  and  little  close  white  cap.  They 
travelled  nearly  four  leagues  along  the  banks  of  the 
Meuse,  and  traversed  the  valley  spread  with  verdant 
meadows,  enamelled  with  flowers  from  which  the  town 
derived  its  name,  and  at  the  extremity  of  which  it  lay 
in  the  form  of  an  amphitheatre.  They  arrived  in  the 
busy  streets,  where  all  was  new,  stirring  life,  to  the 
young  girl  who  had  never  before  wandered  beyond  the 
hills  that  encircled  her  home.  They  sought  the  dwell- 
ing of  an  hospitable  wheelwright,  whose  wife  was  cap- 
tivated with  the  gentleness  and  beauty  of  the  strangely 
commissioned  maiden. 

Joan's  uncle  had  previously  obtained  an  interview 
with  Baudricourt,  giving  an  account  of  her  and  asking 
the  aid  she  desired,  to  which  the  blunt  soldier  replied, 
**  Give  her  a  good  whipping  and  take  her  back  to  her 
father."  Nothing  daunted  by  this  scorn  of  her  preten- 
sions, she  succeeded  in  obtaining  admittance  to  the 
castle,  and  soon  stood  in  the  presence  of  the  hardy  cap- 
tain. Speaking  in  a  firm  tone,  she  told  him  "  she  came 
from  her  Lord,  to  succor  the  king,  and  that  she  would 
raise  the  siege  of  Orleans,  and  bring  Charles  to  Rheims 
to  be  crowned."  The  captain,  struck  with  her  appear- 
ance and  astonished  at  her  words,  believed  her  possessed 
with  a  devil,  and  sent  immediately  for  the  cure.  Upon 
entering  her  presence,  the  frightened  priest  exhibited 
his  stole  or  scarf,  and  commanded  the  evil  spirits  to  de- 
part, if  they  guided  her.     She  snnolv  smiled  upon  him. 


JOAN   OF  ARC.  151 


and  conversed  with  so  much  honesty  and  unaffected 
simplicity,  that  the  curd  himself  was  bewildered.  The 
news  that  the  prophecy  concerning  a  Pucelle  of  the 
marches  of  Lorraine  who  was  to  save  the  realm,  was 
about  to  be  accomplished,  and  that  the  Maid  had  actu- 
ally appeared,  threw  all  Vaucouleurs  in  commotion. 
Crowds  hastened  to  see  her  and  hear  her  words,  and 
all  were  equally  vehement  in  their  admiration,  and 
confident  of  her  saintly  commission.  Several  of  the 
nobility  were  won  over  to  her  cause,  and  promised  to 
conduct  her  to  the  king,  for  she  assured  them  that  "no 
one  in  the  world,  nor  kings,  nor  dukes,  nor  daughter 
of  the  King  of  Scotland,  could  recover  France  but  her- 
self, and  that  it  was  her  Lord's  will  she  should  do  it,'' 
urging  them  to  hasten,  for  she  must  be  at  Orleans 
before  Mid-Lent. 

Baudricourt  sent  messengers  to  the  king,  to  obtain 
his  consent  to  an  interview  with  Joan.  Orleans  being 
closely  besieged,  the  inhabitants  not  able  to  defend  it 
much  longer,  and  Charles's  crown  being  dependent  on 
the  preservation  of  this  last  stronghold,  he  was  willing 
to  grasp  any  aid,  however  supernatural,  if  it  would  but 
serve  his  purpose.  Receiving  his  orders  for  her  ad- 
vance, she  set  out  from  Yaucouleurs,  equipped  in 
man's  attire,  mounted  upon  a  fiery  black  charger,  the 
gift  of  the  admiring  inhabitants,  and  armed  with 
Bword  bestowed  by  Baudricourt.  At  her  departure,  a 
message  of  entreaty,  threats  and  commands  came  from 
her  parents,  who  were  frantic  with  the  thought  of  trust- 
ing their  youngest  and  delicate  daughter  to  all  the  hor* 
rors  and  exposures  of  war.     But  Joan,  still  firm  in  her 


162  JOAN  OF  ARC. 


resolves,  begged  their  forgiveness,  and  continued  her 
journey  with  an  escort  of  three  knights. 

The  district  that  lay  between  Yaucouleurs  and 
Chinon,  where  Charles  held  his  court,  was  overrun 
with  men-at-arms  of  both  parties,  making  the  journey 
extremely  perilous ;  but  Joan  fearlessly  traversed  it, 
cheering  her  companions,  who  regretted  the  under- 
taking and  began  to  fear  that  their  charge  was  a  witch 
or  sorceress.  She  continued  to  face  danger  with  the 
utmost  tranquillity,  and  insisted  upon  sojourning  at 
every  little  town  to  hear  mass  or  to  repeat  her  prayers 
in  the  churches.  At  Fierbois  she  remained  a  long 
time,  kneeling  before  the  altar  in  St,  Catherine's  cathe- 
dral, in  spite  of  the  entreaties  of  her  impatient  escort. 
After  escaping  an  ambuscade  that  had  been  laid  for 
her,  they  arrived  safely  at  Chinon.  Here  in  a  strong 
castle,  the  ruins  of  which  still  ornamented  the  town, 
Charles  and  his  courtiers  were  assembled.  A  rich 
suite  of  apartments  was  occupied  by  his  queen,  Mary 
of  Anjou,  and  her  ladies  of  honor,  among  whom  was 
Agnes  Sorrel,  known  by  the  appellation  of  "  Fairest 
of  the  Fair,"  and  "Lady  of  Beauty,"  and  celebrated 
as  much  for  her  gaiety  of  temper,  entertaining  con- 
versation and  grace  of  manner,  as  for  her  beauty.  The 
gentle,  submissive  queen  had  consented  to  live  amica- 
bly with  this  beautiful  woman,  who  shared  the  affec- 
tions of  the  king  and  had  a  powerful  influence  ovei 
him.  Seeing  the  hopeless  condition  of  Orleans,  he 
would  have  fled  to  the  remote  province  of  Dauphiny 
and  abandoned  his  crown,  but  for  the  spirited  Agnes 
and  the  prudent,  sensible  queen,  b(5th  of  whom  warned 


JOAN   OF  ARC.  153 


him  that  his  followers  would  forsake  him  if  he  betray- 
ed his  despair  of  success  by  flight. 

The  news  of  the  coming  of  Joan,  excited  hope,  fear, 
and  curiosity  in  the  occupants  of  the  castle.  Uncer 
tain  whether  to  receive  her,  and  fearing  lest  he  should 
place  himself  in  the  power  of  an  evil  spirit,  Charles 
called  a  council  of  warriors,  priests,  and  bishops,  to 
consider  the  dangers  or  advantages  of  accepting  one 
who  might  be  a  sorceress,  for  their  leader.  As  for 
trusting  the  events  of  war  to  a  woman,  sucb  an  ob- 
jection was  not  raised,  since  it  was  a  common  occur- 
rence for  the  fair  sex  to  engage  in  battle,  and  in  those 
very  years,  "  the  Bohemian  women  fought  like  men 
in  the  wars  of  the  Hussites."  The  council,  however,  de- 
bated for  two  days  the  expediency  of  even  admitting 
her  to  the  king's  presence,  but  it  was  finally  decided 
that,  if  she  could  prove  the  "  divinity  of  her  mission" 
by  selecting  the  king  from  among  his  courtiers,  she 
should  receive  the  equipment  she  desired,  and  accom- 
pany such  forces  as  could  be  raised,  to  Orleans. 

In  the  meantime,  Joan  was  conducted  to  the  queen's 
apartments,  where  the  two  friendly  rivals  received  her 
with  equal  interest  and  curiosity.  The  rustic  peasant 
girl  exhibited  no  wonder  as  she  entered  the  luxurious 
abode  of  the  queen,  where,  in  the  soft  shade  of  purple 
hangings,  richly  worked  with  golden  fleur-de-lis,  sat 
the  attendants,  industriously  engaged  with  their  em- 
broidery frames,  while  the  queen,  with  fur-bordered 
robes,  occupied  a  slightly  raised  platform,  covered  with 
tapestry.  Her  face  was  expressive  and  gentle,  with  a 
shade  of  subdued  sadness  resting  upon  it,  and  in  her 


154  JOAN   OF   ARC. 


eyes  oeamed  a  soft  winning  radiance  that  reassured  the 
timid  girl,  who  modestly  approached,  though  not  over- 
awed by  the  royal  presence.  She  answered  the  ques- 
tions relating  to  her  childhood  and  the  "  voices,"  with 
the  same  simplicity  and  sweetness  as  when  among  her 
companions.  The  beautiful  Agnes,  whose  vanity 
always  found  her  a  position  and  light  that  best  dis 
played  her  faultless  form,  and  a  complexion  clear  as 
the  coloring  of  Correggio,  half  reclined  in  a  rich  cos- 
tume, her  sandaled  foot  resting  upon  a  velvet  cushion 
With  a  keen,  penetrating  gaze  she  bent  her  full,  dark 
eye  upon  Joan,  so  cross-questioning  her  as  might  easily 
have  bewildered  an  intentional  deceiver.  The  result 
of  this  interview  was  the  unreserved  approval  of  the 
two  who  most  influenced  the  king,  thus  preparing  him 
to  place  greater  confidence  in  Joan's  account  when  she 
appeared  before  him. 

When  the  hour  for  presentation  arrived,  Joan  was 
conducted  to  a  magnificent  hall,  arched  and  ornament- 
ed with  dark  fret-work,  upon  which  was  thrown  the 
brilliant  and  waving  light  of  fifty  torches.  A  crowd 
of  nobles,  and  more  than  three  hundred  knights  in  em- 
blazoned court  dresses,  added  to  the  splendor  of  the 
scene.  The  king,  in  no  way  distinguished  by  his 
attire,  mingled  with  the  courtiers.  To  the  surprise  of 
the  assemblage,  upon  Joan's  entrance,  they  beheld,  in- 
stead of  a  woman  of  masculine  form  and  courageous 
front,  only  a  slender,  delicate  girl,  "  a  poor  little  shep- 
herdess," who  with  a  face  pale  and — 

"  Chaste  as  the  icicle 
That's  curdled  by  the  frost  of  purest  snow, 
And  hangs  on  Dian's  temof  a  " — 


JOAN   OF  ARC.  155 


advanced  with  composed  air,  and  with  as  modest  a 
comtcnance  as  if  she  had  been  bred  up  in  court  all  her 
life.  Being  led  to  a  knight  of  distinguished  bearing, 
she  said  he  was  not  the  king,  and  immediately  selected 
the  true  Charles  from  among  the  brilliant  throng,  fell 
at  his  feet  and,  embracing  his  knees,  exclaimed,  *'  Gen- 
tle dauphin,  the  King  of  Heaven  sends  you  word  by 
me,  that  you  shall  be  consecrated  and  crowned  in  the 
city  of  Eheims." 

The  king  raised  her,  and,  still  unconvinced,  led  her 
aside,  when  she  told  him  of  a  circumstance  he  had  sup- 
posed known  to  himself  alone,  namely,  that  he  had 
prayed  in  his  oratory  that  God  would  restore  his  king- 
dom, or  allow  him  to  escape  safely  to  Spain  or  Scot- 
land. Charles  paled  at  this  revelation  of  his  secret 
prayer,  and  no  longer  doubted  that  the  Maid  was  the 
appointed  rescuer  of  his  crown.  It  did  not  occur  to 
him,  nor  to  those  present,  that  she  had  been  in  the 
queen's  apartments  and  might  have  heard  of  it  there, 
as  well  as  have  seen  or  listened  to  some  outline  of  his 
personal  appearance,  which  enabled  her  to  distinguish 
him.  She  was  certainly  a  girl  of  good  sense  and 
shrewdness,  but  in  her  honesty  and  simplicity  might 
have  been  but  vaguely  conscious  of  what  occurred  in 
the  royal  apartments,  and  mingled  her  impressions 
with  the  revelations  of  "  the  voices." 

Still  there  were  many  who  were  not  willing  to  rely 
upon  the  mysterious  pretensions  of  the  Maid,  and  it 
was  resolved  to  refer  the  matter  to  the  doctors  of  the- 
ology. They  were  equally  puzp'Jed  for  a  decision,  either 
because  of  their  superstition,   or  because  they  were 


156  JOAN   OF   ARC. 


careful  not  to  take  sides  in  a  matter  which  divided  the 
court,  shirking  the  responsibility  by  referring  the  ex- 
amination to  the  University  of  Poitiers.  By  a  proc- 
lamation from  the  archbishop  of  Rheims,  also  presi- 
dent of  the  royal  council,  which  held  its  sittings  in 
Poitiers,  a  great  number  of  doctors  and  professors  of 
theology,  including  priests  and  monks,  besides  members 
of  parliament,  assembled  at  the  capital  of  the  depart- 
ment to  determine  the  case  of  this  little  peasant  girl. 

Joan,  always  attired  in  the  dress  of  a  man,  was  con- 
ducted to  Poitiers,  but,  without  trepidation  or  concern 
for  the  result  of  the  trial,  looked  with  admiring  eyes  upon 
the  varied  scenery  while  journeying,  sure  to  dismount 
at  every  little  church  to  repeat  an  Ave  Maria  before  its 
altar  whether  its  spire  upheld  the  cross  in  the  midst  of 
a  town  through  which  she  passed,  or  whether  humbly 
nestled  in  a  hermit-like  retreat  among  the  hills  and 
valleys  that  lay  between  Chinon  and  the  parliamentary 
city.  Poitiers  was  easily  descried  in  the  distance,  for 
it  crowned  and  girdled  a  hill  at  the  junction  of  two 
rivers.  A  thick  wall,  flanked  by  strong  towers,  guard- 
ed the  city,  which  boasted  the  remains  of  an  old  Roman 
castle  and  amphitheatre,  besides  its  splendid  cathedrals 
and  imposing  palaces.  Joan  approached  the  city  that 
had  so  much  interest  for  her,  passed  through  the  gates 
without  fear,  and  guided  through  the  narrow,  crooked 
streets,  was  conducted  to  the  house  of  an  advocate  of 
the  parliament  and  left  in  the  care  of  his  wife. 

The  following  day,  the  pompous  prelates  having  as- 
sembled, the  maid  was  conducted  to  the  vast  hall 
where  they  sat.     Upon  being  questioned,  she  related 


JOAN   OF  ARC.  157 


all  that  she  had  seen  and  heard  in  a  sweet  heart-tonch- 
ing  voice,  and  with  a  simplicity  and  innocence  thai 
already  won  the  grim  judges  before  whom  she  meekly 
stood.  After  she  asserted  that  she  obeyed  the  direc- 
tions of  God  and  his  angels,  a  Dominican  friar  said, 
"  Joan,  thou  sayest  that  God  wishes  to  deliver  the  peo- 
ple of  France ;  if  such  be  his  will,  he  has  no  need  of 
men-at-arms."  To  this  she  readily  rephed,  "  Ah,  the 
men-at-arms  will  fight,  and  God  will  give  the  victory." 
A  professor  of  theology  in  the  university,  demanded 
a  sign  from  her  by  which  they  might  beUeve  in  tlie 
holiness  of  her  mission.  To  this  she  quickly  retorted, 
"  T  have  not  come  to  Poitiers  to  work  signs  or  mira- 
cles; my  sign  will  be  the  raising  of  the  siege  of 
Orleans.     Give  me  men-at-arms,  few  or  many,  and  I 

will  go." 

With  all  their  cross-questioning,  they  could  find 
nothing  to  condemn  in  her,  and  therefore  countenanced 
the  granting  of  the  forces  she  asked.  The  people  of 
Poitiers  went  in  crowds  to  see  her,  wept  at  her  win- 
ning, childish  purity,  and  declared  "  the  maid  was  of 

God." 

Messengers  from  Dunois,  the  celebrated  bastard  of 
Orleans,  who  with  his  forces  was  in  the  besieged  city, 
urged  hasty  measures  to  be  adopted.  In  reply  to  his 
impatient  demands,  Joan  was  fully  equipped  and  pro- 
vided with  a  suitable  escort.  She  wore  a  complete  suit 
of  white  armor,  a  small  axe,  and  at  her  side  a  sword 
upon  which  was  engraved  the  royal  insignia  of  three 
fleur-de-lis.  This  sword  she  had  demanded  from  the 
learned  assembly,  telling  them  they  would  find  it  U- 


158  JOAN  OF  ARC. 


hind  the  altar  of  St.  Catherine's  cathedral  at  Ficjrbois. 
This  information  proving  correct,  the  awed  monks 
bore  the  miraculous  sword  to  the  girl,  whom  they  seri- 
ously began  to  fear,  "forgetting  she  had  prayed  at  St. 
Catherine's  altar  for  hours,  when  she  might  have  heard 
the  whisperings  of  priests,  or  have  spied  the  sword 
herself;  yet  undoubtedly  she  believed  it  had  been 
placed  there  by  her  favorite  saint. 

She  bore  a  white  standard  in  her  hand,  embi'oidered 
with  fleur-de-lis,  and  upon  which  was  represented  a 
shield  and  sword  surmounted  by  a  crown,  and  a  beau- 
tifully painted  image  of  the  Saviour.  Thus  equipped 
and  mounted  upon  her  black  charger,  accompanied  by 
one  of  her  own  brothers,  a  page,  a  mattre  cfhotel^  an  old 
knight,  his  valets,  and  a  confessor  of  the  order  of  St. 
Augustine,  she  set  out  for  Blois,  where  a  large  body  of 
troops  were  rallying  to  follow  her  charmed  standard. 

The  impatient  army  waited  on  the  banks  of  the  Loire, 
with  a  large  convoy  of  provisions  for  the  relief  of  the 
beleaguered  city.  Joan  was  received  by  them  with  en- 
thusiastic shouts.  Young,  beautiful,  modest,  and  coura- 
geous, with  the  attributes  of  a  saint,  the  soldiers  looked 
upon  her  with  mingled  admiration,  worship  and  fear. 
She  found  herself  surrounded  by  the  cavaliers  of  Italy 
and  Arragon,  the  valiant  Scots,  the  Gascon  nobles,  the 
fierce  "  fire-eaters"  of  the  gallant  Count  Dunois,  and 
the  cruel  but  brave  Armagnacs — a  band  of  ferocious 
brigards,  with  captains  at  their  head,  who  had  long 
been  the  terror  of  France.  One  of  them,  Gilles  de 
Retz,  was  not  only  the  robber  hero  of  his  own  times, 
but  as  th*a  original  oi"  "  B^ue  Beard''  ha-s  be^n  immor- 


JOAN   OF  ARC.  159 


talized  as  the  "bugbear"  of  nursery  tales,  through 
every  succeeding  generation.  With  sucli  a  promis- 
cuous and  fearful  host,  the  brave  girl  unfurled  her 
sainted  banner,  and  turned  her  face  towards  Orleans. 
It  was  spring-time;  the  hills  were  blossoming  with  the 
yellow  furz,  the  meadows  were  carpeted  with  velvety 
green,  the  vast  forests  had  put  off  their  sombre  dress 
and  sported  fresh  fragrant  leaves,  "the  deep  arches  of 
the  wilderness  halls"  echoed  the  notes  of  the  nii^htin- 
gale,  the  blue-bird  winged  from  grove  to  perfumed 
vineyards,  while 

"  The  oriole,  di'iftiug  like  a  flake  of  fire," 

whirled  to  the  loftiest  tree-tops  and  joined  its  sweet 
notes  in  the  universal  concert.  The  air,  clear  and  in- 
vigorating in  its  freshness,  inspired  the  army  with 
buoyant  hopes  and  a  good-will  that  made  them  readily 
obedient  to  the  commands  of  their  gentle  leader.  She 
banished  from  the  camp  all  proflfligacy,  endeavoring  to 
elevate  the  debased  character  of  her  followers.  During 
the  first  day's  journey,  she  caused  an  altar  to  be  erect- 
ed on  the  banks  of  the  Loire  in  the  open  air ;  she  also 
partook  of  the  communion  and  required  the  same  of 
the  soldiers. 

Hearing  one  of  the  robber  captains,  La  Hire,  swear- 
ing violently,  she  mildly  rebuked  him;  fierce  as  he 
was,  he  received  it  with  humility,  promising  in  future 
to  "  swear  only  by  his  baton."  Joan's  purity,  gentle- 
ness and  religious  zeal,  gained  her  a  strong  power  over 
those  Armagnac  brigands,  who  woull  have  devotedly 
followed  her  wherever  she  chose  U    lead,  even  on  a 


160  JOAN   OF   ARC. 


crusade  to  the  Holy  Sepulchre.  The  remainder  of  the 
army  were  scarcely  less  infatuated ;  their  enthusiasm 
increased  daily  as  they  saw  her  sharing  their  hardships, 
sleeping  unpillowed  upon  the  damp  earth,  encased  in 
ner  protecting  armor. 

They  marched  rapidly  along  the  southern  banks  of 
the  Loire,  where  the  heights  were  covered  with  orchards, 
vineyards,  castles  and  villages.  Passing  Chambourd, 
and  the  clustered  turrets  and  towers  of  an  imposing 
castle  that  marked  its  boundaries,  in  the  midst  of  a 
neighboring  wood,  they  approached  within  a  few 
leagues  of  Orleans.  Joan  was  impatient  to  cross  the 
river  and  enter  the  city  on  the  northern  side,  where  the 
English  encampment  lay.  This  the  chiefs  would  not 
hear  to,  and  their  counsel  was  supported  by  the  Count 
Dunois,  who  came  from  Orleans  with  an  escort  to  meet 
them,  and  induced  Joan  to  adopt  a  less  perilous  en- 
trance by  water. 

Orleans  stood  at  the  extremity  of  an  elevated  plain, 
which  terminates  near  the  banks  of  the  Loire.  The 
broad  rapid  river,  washing  its  southern  walls,  prevent- 
ed the  English  from  investing  it  completely.  In  the 
beginning  of  the  siege,  the  French  had  burned  the  en- 
tire suburbs,  which  were  extensive  as  a  city,  and  con- 
tained a  countless  number  of  churches,  convents  and 
monasteries,  that  would  have  served  as  so  many  strong- 
holds for  the  EngUsh,  besides  many  finely-built  houses 
— the  resorts  of  the  burghers  of  Orleans.  The  inhabi- 
tants had  retired  within  the  embattled  walls  that  en- 
circled the  city,  flanked  by  square  towers  at  short  in- 
tervals, and  thickly  planted  with  cannon  which,  by  the 


JOAN  OF  ARC.  161 


destruction  of  the  suburbs,  could  play  freely  among 
advancing  ranks  of  the  besiegers. 

The  English  were  protected  by  fifty  or  more  bastilles 
and  forts,  erected  and  strongly  garrisoned  by  men-at- 
arms,  whose  commanders  were  selected  from  the  flower 
of  the  English  army.  The  commander-in-chief,  Salis- 
bury, and  the  distinguished  Talbot,  occupied  the  near- 
est bastille,  while  the  one  next  the  Loire  was  intrusted 
to  Sir  William  Glasdale,  as  being  a  post  Of  danger. 
Moving  towers  and  battering  engines  added  to  the  for- 
midable and  firm  appearance  of  their  position.  The 
English  soldiers  were  nearly  as  superstitious  as  their 
foes,  and  their  army  was  partly  composed  of  French 
troops  of  the  Burgundian  party.  They  were  filled 
with  dread  and  fear  at  the  thought  of  fighting  against 
a  maid  commissioned  by  heaven,  or  as  some  thought,  a 
sorceress,  or  a  saint  who  had  the  power  of  striking 
them  to  the  earth  by  a  word.  Her  fame  had  arrived 
before  her,  but  her  entrance  into  Orleans  escaped  the 
vigilance  of  the  English,  since  it  was  covered  by  the 
darkness  of  a  midnight  tempest,  as  is  asserted  by  some. 
Others  record  her  arrival  at  "  eight  o'clock  of  the  even- 
ing April  29th,  when  so  great  and  so  eager  was  the 
crowd,  striving  to  touch  her  horse  at  least,  that  her  pro 
gress  through  the  streets  was  exceedingly  slow ;  they 
gazed  at  her  as  if  they  were  beholding  an  angel.  She 
rode  along,  speaking  kindly  to  the  people,  and,  after 
offering  up  prayers  in  the  church,  repaired  to  the  house 
of  the  Duke  of  Orleans'  treasurer,  an  honorable  man, 
whose  wife  and  daughter  gladly  welcomed  her."  The 
succeeding  day,  she  rode  gaily  round  the  walls  of  the 
11 


162  JOAN   OF  ARC. 


city,  to  reconnoitre  tlie  English  bastilles,  followed  by  a 
crowd  who  afterward  repaired  with  her  to  the  church 
of  Saint-Croix  to  attend  vespers,  and  with  French  readi- 
ness to  laugh  or  shed  tears,  as  occasion  may  direct, 
"  when  she  wept  at  prayers  they  wept  likewise."  The 
citizens  were  bewitched  by  her  presence,  and  made  the 
most  extravagant  expressions  of  joy,  feasted  and  smiled 
upon  each  other  at  the  prospect  of  a  near  deliverance 
from  their  enemies.  The  army  were  raised  above  all 
fear,  "  drunk  with  religion  and  war,"  and  furious  with 
a  fanaticism  equal  to  their  previous  despair. 

The  first  attack  which  she  led  was  directed  against 
one  of  the  northern  bastilles,  strongly  defended  by 
men-at-arms.  Talbot  came  to  their  assistance  with  a 
formidable  detachment,  but  a  fresh  outpouring  from 
the  gates  of  Orleans  and  the  approach  of  the  Maid  in 
her  white  armor  and  emblazoned  surcoat,  so  filled 
them  with  fear  that  wherever  her  magic  standard  ap- 
peared, the  soldiers  threw  down  their  arms  and  fled  in 
consternation.  The  bastille  was  taken,  razed  to  the 
ground,  and  its  defenders  either  put  to  the  sword  or 
carried  prisoners  into  Orleans.  Joan  at  this  first  scene 
of  carnage,  wept  to  see  so  many  perish  unconfessed, 
and  commanded  the  following  day  to  be  observed  by 
fasting,  prayer  and  confession. 

The  next  morning,  she  addressed  her  troops,  and 
assured  the  commanders  that  victory  was  certain  ;  they 
sallied  out  in  the  early  sun,  the  knights  with  ghttering 
helmets  and  polished  shields,  and  coats  of  mail  over 
which  were  thrown  elegantly  embroidered  surooats  of 
silk  or  satin,  whereon  were  curiously  beaten  the  arms 


JOAN   OF   ARC.  163 


of  their  house  in  gold.  Tlie  men-at-arms,  bristling 
with  murderous  weapons,  the  scalers  and  the  archers, 
filed  out  of  the  city,  and,  throwing  themselves  iu  boats, 
crossed  the  Loire  and  attacked  the  tournelles,  erected 
on  the  opposite  bank  and  defended  by  Glasdale.  Joan, 
in  the  beginning  of  the  onset,  was  wounded  by  an  ar* 
row  and  fell,  but  was  rescued,  borne  away  from  the 
scene  of  conflict  and  laid  upon  the  grass.  Upon  un- 
loosing her  armor  and  examining  the  wound,  she  found 
the  arrow  had  pierced  her  through,  and,  terrified,  wept 
with  womanly  weakness.  This  was  but  for  a  moment, 
for  her  "  voices"  came  again ;  she  rallied  her  strength 
and  courage,  dressed  the  wound  with  oil,  and  remained 
till  night-fall  in  communion  with  her  protecting  saints, 
who  appeared  to  her  excited  vision  surrounded  by  a 
halo  of  light.  Her  standard  was  borne  by  a  Basque 
soldier  in  the  thickest  of  the  affray,  and  never  failed  to 
disperse  the  enemy.  While  victory  was  still  wavering 
between  the  two  parties,  the  citizens  of  Orleans  became 
impatient  to  decide  the  contest,  rushed  forth  in  a  body, 
and  assailed  the  French  forces,  who  were  urged  on  by 
shouts  from  the  Maid,  exclaiming,  "Enter,  all  is 
yours."  At  a  bound  they  gained  the  redoubt,  and  the 
English,  terrified  at  the  rush,  and  believing  they  saw 
the  patron  saint  of  the  city  or  the  Archangel  Michael 
protecting  the  French,  fled  in  dismay  to  a  bastille  con- 
nected with  the  redoubt  by  a  small  bridge.  A  cannon- 
ball  shivered  the  bridge  while  they  were  crowded  upon 
it,  precipitating  them  into  the  river  and  placing  thcr^ 
at  the  mercy  of  their  foes.  Glasdale,  who  had  heaped 
epithets  of  shame   upon  the  head  of  the  Maid,   was 


164  JOAN   OF  ARC. 


drowned  before  her  eyes.  "  Ah,  how  I  pity  thy  soul," 
she  exclaimed,  as  she  saw  him  borne  down  in  useless 
struggles  by  the  weight  of  his  armor,  to  rise  no  mc  re. 

These  and  other  decisive  defeats  completely  dis 
heartened  the  English  commanders,  who  saw  their  own 
troops  paralyzed  in  the  presence  of  the  reputed  sorcer- 
ess, fall  down  in  terror  before  her  standard,  and  at  the 
same  time  beheld  the  Orleanists  possessed  of  a  ferocious 
courage,  and  fanatical  confidence  of  success  that  made 
them  irresistible.  Unwilling  to  risk  another  battle, 
Talbot  and  Suffolk  ordered  a  retreat,  leaving  on  the 
plain  their  artillery,  the  bastilles,  the  sick,  wounded 
and  such  prisoners  as  they  had  taken.  While  they 
were  marching  away,  Joan  had  an  altar  erected  on  the 
plain,  and  mass  sung  in  the  hearing  of  the  retreating 
enemy,  tingling  their  ears  with  the  sound  of  triumph 
and  thanksgiving,  as  they  went  out  of  sight. 

There  was  no  longer  a  doubt  entertained  of  the 
divine  mission  of  the  peasant  girl,  henceforth  called  the 
"Maid  of  Orleans,"  and  admitted  to  the  councils  of 
war.  Messengers  were  now  sent  to  Charles  VII.,  still 
indolently  whiling  away  his  time  in  his  castle  at  Chi- 
non,  to  come  speedily  with  whatever  forces  he  could 
collect,  and  follow  up  their  success  before  the  English 
should  be  strengthened  by  detachments  sent  by  the 
Duke  of  Bedford  at  Paris,  under  the  command  of  Sir 
John  Falstaff.  As  soon  as  the  king  arrived,  the  Frencii 
were  eager  to  see  the  accomplishment  of  the  remainder 
^f  Joan's  promises,  and  hastened  to  take  possession  oi 
Sargeau  and  Beaugency,  before  these  places  could  be 
reheved  by  the  English. 


JOAN  OF  ARC.  166 


The  armies  of  Talbot  and  Sir  John  Falstaii'  had 
meanwliile  effected  a  junction,  and,  being  in  a  section 
overgrown  with  thickets  and  brambles,  the  Orleanists 
in  pursuit  of  them  could  not  discover  their  position. 
Joan  now  rode  at  the  head  of  a  rapidly  increasing 
array ;  recruits  poured  in  from  all  quarters,  wrought 
to  the  highest  pitch  of  enthusiasm  at  the  reported  mira- 
cles Joan  had  performed,  and  elated  at  the  late  suc- 
cesses. "The  English  are  uniting,"  said  she,  "but,  in 
God's  name,  advance  boldly  against  them  and  assuredly 
they  shall  be  conquered."  "But  where  shall  we  find 
them  ?"  asked  some.  "  Ride  boldly  forward  and  you 
will  be  conducted  to  them,"  she  replied.  A  band  of 
sixty  horsemen  were  sent  in  advance  to  reconnoitre ; 
unable  to  discover  the  English,  they  started  a  stag 
which  rushed  into  the  enemy's  ranks.  A  loud  shout 
of  surprise  from  them  betrayed  their  position,  while 
the  French  men-at-arms  galloped  up  to  the  disordered 
army,  gave  them  no  time  to  rally,  and  rushed  upon 
them.  The  soldiers,  from  fear  of  the  Maid,  had  been 
deserting  in  great  numbers,  and  now,  as  she  rode  fear- 
lessly at  the  head  of  a  force  multiplied  into  a  host  in 
the  bewildered  vision  of  the  enemy,  the  English  lead- 
ers could  do  nothing  with  the  dismayed  troops.  Sir 
John  Falstaff,  though  he  had  won  honors  for  his  cour- 
ageous conduct  in  other  battles,  seemed  overwhelmed 
with  fear  and  confusion,  and  catching  the  superstitious 
spirit  that  infatuated  his  troops,  turned  and  fled  from 
the  battle-field  without  striking  a  blow,  for  which  cow- 
ardice the  enraged  Duke  of  Bedford  deprived  him  of 
the  Order  of  the  Garter.     Talbot  was  unwilling  again 


166  JOAN  OF  ARC. 


to  show  his  back  to  the  royalists ;  he  fought  bravely, 
but  was  deserted  by  his  followers  and  taken  prisoner, 
while  the  rest  were  pursued  and  put  to  the  sword. 

At  the  sight  of  the  awful  carnage,  the  maiden  leader 
wept ;  she  obeyed  the  impulse  of  her  tender  sympathy  ; 
she  dismounted  and  held  the  head  of  one  who  had  been 
cut  down  before  her,  praying  for  his  soul  while  she 
attempted  to  soothe  his  dying  agonies. 

After  the  signal  victory  of  this  battle  of  Patay,  the 
French,  eager  to  see  the  king  crowned  at  Eheims,  went 
triumphantly  from  town  to  town,  carrying  everything 
before  them.  "  The  indolent  young  monarch  himself 
was  hurried  away  by  this  popular  tide  which  swelled 
and  rolled  northward.  King,  courtiers,  politicians,  en- 
thusiasts, fools  and  wise,  were  off  together,  either  vol- 
antarily  or  compulsorily.  At  starting,  they  were 
twelve  thousand;  but  the  mass  gathered  bulk  as  it 
rolled  along."  Upon  approaching  Troyes,  it  was  found 
so  well  garrisoned  that  the  army,  large  as  it  was,  de- 
spaired of  forcing  it  without  artillery.  A  council  was 
assembled  after  taking  their  position  under  the  walls, 
in  which  the  leaders  unanimously  advised  the  aban- 
donment of  their  march  to  Eheims,  since  it  would  be 
poor  policy  to  leave  such  a  stronghold  in  their  rear, 
and  impossible  to  besiege  the  city  since  they  lacked 
both  provision  and  artillery.  One  Armagnac  captain 
disputed  the  retreat.  While  they  were  warmly  debat- 
ing, Joan  herself  knocked  at  the  door  and  assured  thenr 
they  should  be  in  Troyes  in  three  days.  "  We  would 
willingly  wait  six,"  said  the  chancellor,  "were  we  cer- 
tain you  spoke  sooth."     "  Six  1  you  shall  enter  to-mor- 


JoaN  of  arc.  167 


row,"  exclaimed  ihe  heroic  girl,  seizing  her  standard 
and  calling  upou  the  troops  to  follow  her. 

A  portion  of  the  ditch  or  fosse  that  surrounded  the 
city,  was  quickly  filled  by  her  direction,  and,  while 
they  prepared  to  cross  and  make  the  attack,  the  Eng- 
lish offered  to  capitulate,  reserving  the  privilege  of 
marching  away  with  their  effects  without  molestation 
As  they  passed  from  the  gates,  Joan  perceived  a  num- 
ber of  French  prisoners  manacled  and  driven  before 
them.  She  refused  to  let  them  pass  and  the  king  was 
obliged  to  ransom  them. 

The  way  was  now  open  for  their  progress  to  Rheims. 
Upon  approaching  that  city,  a  deputation  of  the  citi- 
zens went  out  to  meet  the  king,  presenting  him  the 
keys  of  the  city  and  acknowledging  him  their  sov- 
ereign. Joan  led  the  way,  with  her  white  banner  al- 
ways unfurled  and  floating  like  a  beckoning  spirit  be- 
fore the  impetuous  and  worshipping  army  who  fol- 
lowed wherever  it  conducted  them.  Her  face  beamed 
the  triumph  and  joy  she  felt.  Passing  through  the 
massive  gateway,  they  went  with  a  conqueror's  step 
along  the  thronged  streets,  and  then  to  the  cathedral 
to  offer  prayers  and  thanksgiving.  This  cathedral  stood 
in  a  square,  from  which  the  six  principal  streets  of 
Rheims  diverged.  It  was  here  that,  two  days  after, 
the  promised  coronation  took  place. 

The  holy  oil  of  Clovis,  secretly  kept  in  the  old  church 
of  St.  Remy's,  was  brought  with  great  ceremony  by 
priests  who  were  met  at  the  entrance  of  the  cathedral 
by  the  archbishop.  He  received  it  and,  approaching 
the  king,  who  bowed  reverently  before  it,  anointed  and 


168  JOAN   OF   ARC. 


consecrated  him  with  all  the  state  and  pomp  that  the 
mysterious  aid  by  which  the  event  had  been  attained, 
could  suggest.  The  dark  massive  walls,  from  which 
graceful  arches  sprang  and  fell,  resting  upon  tall  clus- 
tered columns ;  the  curious  and  elaborate  carvings 
everywhere  visible ;  the  vast  interior  crowded  with  fe- 
rocious soldiers,  bearing  their  battle-axes  and  cross- 
bows ;  knights  with  plumed  helmets,  and  gold-embroid- 
ered surcoats  ;  the  glittering  mail  of  the  men-at-arms ; 
the  fair  and  noble  ladies  of  Rheims  in  their  enormous 
and  lofty  head-dressas ;  the  nobles,  in  rich  coronation 
robes,  grouped  about  their  monarch,  who  stood  promi- 
nent in  the  stateliest  array  of  royalty;  the  pompous 
archbishop,  and  above  all 

"  The  maid  with  hehned  head. 
Like  a  war-goddess,  fair  and  terrible," 

Standing  near  the  king,  her  sacred  sword  sheathed,  and 
her  banner  dropping  in  folds  upon  her  white  armor — 
together  formed  a  scene  that  filled  the  superstitious 
throng  with  a  feeling  of  awe  and  wonder,  and  hushed 
them  all  to  silence. 

When  the  crown — a  golden  bauble,  to  gain  which 
such  rivers  of  blood  had  flowed — was  placed  upon  the 
monarch's  head,  Joan  burst  into  tears  and  prostrated 
herself  at  his  feet,  beseeching  him,  now  that  her  prom- 
ises were  fulfilled,  to  permit  her  to  return  to  her  own 
valley,  and  with  her  sisters  watch  the  flocks  upon  the 
hills,  and  be  happy  and  peaceful  again  with  her  grieved 
parents.  All  who  listened  wept  with  her,  but  Charles, 
unwilling  to  lose  one  upon  whom  his  battles  depended^ 


JOAK   OF   ARC.  169 


would  not  consent  to  her  departure  till  the  English 
were  driven  from  France.  As  a  mark  of  his  gratitude 
he  ennobled  her  family,  giving  them  the  title  of  "  du 
Ljs,"  in  allusion  to  the  lilies  on  her  banner,  and  pre- 
smted  her  with  a  handsome  estate. 

The  movements  of  the  army  were  now  like  so  many 
triumphal  processions.  City  after  city  surrendered 
without  resistance,  till  it  arrived  at  St.  Denys.  Joan 
refused  to  proceed  further,  warned  by  her  voices,  or 
presentiments,  that  she  could  not  advance  with  safety. 
Regardless  of  her  advice,  the  commanders,  elated  with, 
past  success,  pushed  forward  to  Paris. 

The  Duke  of  Bedford  was  alarmed  at  the  rapid  pro- 
gress of  the  Orleanists ;  he  sent  to  the  Duke  of  Bur- 
gundy for  assistance,  and  afterwards  to  the  powerful 
Cardinal  Winchester,  who  hastily  raised  forces  in  Eng- 
land, and  came  to  Paris  with  the  young  Henry  VI.  in 
order  to  crown  him  there.  Thus  strengthened,  and  in 
possession  of  the  Seine  both  above  and  below  the  city, 
it  was  impossible  for  Charles  YII.  to  besiege  it  with 
his  army,  ill-provided  with  the  necessary  provisions 
and  equipments.  In  the  very  face  of  impossibilities, 
he  advanced  towards  the  strong  and  well -prepared  city, 
depending  on  the  mysterious  power  of  the  Maid  and 
the  enthusiasm  of  his  followers. 

They  carried  one  of  the  outposts,  and  the  brave  and 
fearless  Joan  cleared  the  first  fosse  with  a  bound,  firmly 
maintaining  her  seat,  and  in  another  spring  was  beyond 
the  mound  that  separated  it  from  the  second,  where 
but  few  dared  to  follow  her.  Her  conspicuous  dress, 
was  a  fair  mark  for  the  showers  of  arrows  falling  thickly 


l70  JOAN  OF  ARC. 


around  her;  regardless  of  her  danger,  she  sounded 
the  depth  of  the  fosse  with  her  lance,  but,  while  urging 
the  troops  to  follow,  an  arrow  darted  through  the  links 
of  her  armor,  and  pierced  deeply,  causing  such  a  flow 
of  blood  as  obliged  her  to  seek  shelter.  The  French 
were  repulsed  with  severe  losses.  The  headlong  im- 
petuosity that  had  served  them  before,  would  not 
calmly  brook  reverses,  and  they  were  ready  to  heap 
reproaches  and  harsh  epithets  upon  the  brave  girl  who 
had  warned  them  not  to  make  the  rash  attempt  upon 
Paris.  Disheartened  and  weak  with  pain  and  loss  of 
blood,  she  could  not  be  prevailed  upon  to  return  to 
the  camp  till  after  night-fall. 

The  French  now  abandoned  the  hope  of  securing 
Paris,  and  occupied  the  winter  in  laying  siege  to  two 
towns,  one  of  which  was  successfully  carried  by  the 
exertions  of  Joan,  the  other  abandoned  in  a  panic.  In 
the  meantime,  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  assembled  a  for- 
midable army,  and  with  the  English  troops,  in  the 
spring  of  1430,  laid  siege  to  Compiegne,  where  the 
French  were  concentrated.  The  Maid  threw  herself 
into  the  city,  and,  on  the  second  day,  headed  a  sally 
against  the  besiegers.  In  the  beginning  of  the  strug- 
gle her  party  was  successful,  but  the  English  rallied 
and  drove  back  the  assailants.  Joan  remaining  in  the 
rear,  to  cover  the  retreat  of  her  followers,  reached  the 
bridge  too  late  to  enter  the  gates  which  suddenly 
closed ;  and,  betrayed  by  the  governor  of  the  city,  she 
was  left  among  the  crowd  upon  the  bridge.  Conspic- 
uous by  her  dress,  a  purple  surcoat  brilliantly  embroi- 
dered with  gold,  thrown  over  her  armor,  she  was  im- 


JOAN   OF  ARC.  l*?! 


mediately  seized  by  a  Picard  archer  and  dragged  from 
her  horse.  She  surrendered  to  the  bastard  of  Yen- 
dome,  a  distinguished  knight,  who  conducted  her  to 
the  English  camp  and  placed  her  under  a  secure  guard. 

The  soldiers  crowded  about  and  gazed  upon  her,  and 
the  English  nobles  and  Burgundians  could  not  restrain 
their  exclamations  of  surprise  at  finding  the  witch,  the 
sorceress,  the  great  object  of  terror,  to  be  only  c^simple, 
delicate  and  fair  young  girl.  They  were  more  delighted 
at  her  capture  than  if  they  had  taken  a  host  of  French 
prisoners,  and  assembling  in  showy  array  in  the  plain 
before  Compiegne,  sent  up  shouts  of  victory, 

Joan  was  sold  to  John  of  Luxembourg,  who  sent 
her  under  a  strong  guard  to  the  castle  of  Beaulieu  in 
Picardy,  where  she  was  confined  in  the  highest  tower ; 
but  soon  after,  from  political  motives,  he  had  her  re- 
moved to  his  own  castle  of  Beaurevoir,  Here  she 
could  only  gaze  from  the  narrow  windows  of  the  lofti- 
est tower,  upon  the  meadows,  the  streams  and  the  blue 
hills,  beyond  which  she  could  in  fancy  see  her  peace- 
ful home,  her  mourning  parents,  and  her  young  and 
loved  Haumette,  with  whom  she  would  have  given 
worlds  to  breathe  the  free  air  again,  A  close  prisoner, 
and  in  despair  for  France,  fearful  too  for  her  own  fate 
she  passed  the  weary  days  in  prayer  and  weeping, 
She  was  filled  with  forebodings  of  evil.  She  had  en 
deavored  to  effect  her  escape  from  the  castle  of  Beau 
lieu,  and  even  now  from  the  high  towers  of  Beaurevoir, 
the  intrepid  girl  attempted  a  descent.  She  fell  and  was 
taken  up  half  dead  by  the  ladies  of  Luxembourg,  who 
bestowed  the  most  tender  care  upon  her.     They  were 


172  JOAN   OF  ARC. 


won  by  her  gentleness,  and  doubly  attracted  by  sym- 
pathy for  her  grief  that  she  could  no  longer  aid  France, 
and  her  tears  and  anxiety  for  the  king  for  whom  she 
suffered,  but  who  made  no  effort  for  her  deliverance. 
She  knew  that  her  present  captor  had  sold  her  to  the 
Duke  of  Burgundy,  and  suffered  herself  to  be  led 
away  from  her  new-found  friends,  who  in  vain  plead 
with  tears,  at  the  feet  of  John  of  Luxembourg,  entreat- 
ing him  not  to  deliver  her  into  the  hands  of  the  Eng- 
Hsh,  thirsting,  as  they  did,  for  the  blood  of  one  who 
had  cost  them  so  dearly. 

She  was  conveyed  to  Arras,  and  from  thence  to  the 
donjon-keep  of  Crotoy,  where  she  could  look  out  upon 
the  sea  and  watch  the  ships  gliding  to  and  fro,  or  driv- 
ing along  on  the  waves  of  a  tempest.  A  clear  day  re- 
vealed the  distant  coast  of  England ;  it  reminded  her 
of  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  who,  like  herself,  a  close  pris- 
oner, wore  his  life  away  in  chains  on  a  foreign  shore ; 
all  her  fire  and  spirit  was  roused,  for  it  had  been  one 
of  her  treasured  hopes  to  secure  his  release,  when  the 
French  arms  had  triumphed. 

Joan  was  consoled  and  strengthened  by  a  priest  who, 
likewise  a  captive,  said  mass  daily  in  her  presence.  In 
this  she  heartily  joined,  her  old  enthusiasm  returning 
and  her  courage  revived  by  the  voices  which  assured 
her  that  "  she  should  be  dehvered  when  she  had  seen 
the  king  of  the  English," 

Nearly  a  year  had  passed  since  her  first  imprison- 
ment, when  she  was  claimed  by  the  bishop  of  the  dio- 
cese in  which  she  was  taken,  at  the  instigation  of  Car- 
dinal Winchester,  whose  plan  was  to  crown  Henry  VI., 


JOAN  OF  ARC.  178 


and  at  the  same  time  disgrace  the  pretensions  of  Charles 
VII.  by  burning  the  girl  who  had  secured  his  corona- 
tion, as  a  witch  or  sorceress.     By  order  of  the  Vicar  of 
the  Inquisition,  Joan  was  taken  to  Eouen  in  February 
1431. 

Eeleased  from  her  long  confinement,  she  exulted 
in  the  pure  fresh  air  of  freedom,  and  rode  cheerfully 
along  with  her  keepers,  though  still  manacled  with 
chains.  Approaching  Eouen,  the  inhabitants  thronged 
the  entrance  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  wonderful  being 
who  was  represented,  at  one  moment,  a  beautiful 
woman,  an  angel,  and  at  the  next,  described  as  a 
demon  who  possessed  a  terrible  power  over  her  ene- 
mies. They  hardly  knew  whether  to  shrink  from  her 
gaze  or  touch  and  kiss  her  garments ;  all  were  filled 
with  amazement  at  beholding  so  fair  and  harmless  a 
girl.  The  women  of  Eouen,  in  their  taU  muslin  caps, 
red  petticoats  and  clattering  cabots,  followed  her 
through  the  streets,  and  with  motherly  protection 
would  have  shielded  her  from  the  denunciations  about 
to  descend  upon  her,  could  they  have  rescued  her  from 
the  grim  monks  who  closely  guarded  her.  Joan  felt 
her  spirit  depressed  as  they  traced  the  narroAv  winding 
streets  of  Eouen,  lined  with  peaked-roofed  houses,  deco- 
rated with  curious  carvings  and  innumerable  balconies. 
Towers  and  spires  with  rich-cut  ornaments  loomed  up 
along  the  narrow  way  which  was  crowded  and  con- 
fused with  passing  donkeys,  laden  v/ith  well-filled  pan- 
niers and  driven  by  quaintly  dressed  women  and  chil- 
dren, while  men,  in  silken  jackets  and  long-peaked 
shoes,  added  their  sonorous  cries  to  the  Babel  of  voices. 


174  JOAN  OF  ABC. 


Joan,  weary  and  bewildered,  was  soon  led  before  the 
impatient  assemblage,  eager  for  their  victim.  Bishops, 
monks,  doctors  of  theology  and  of  the  canon  law,  en- 
veloped in  stately  robes,  sat  ready  to  pronounce  judg- 
ment upon  a  girl  whom  they  were  bribed  to  condemn 
by  some  means,  if  she  were  guilty  or  not.  Alone  in 
the  midst  of  this  subtle  court,  without  the  sympathy  of 
a  friend  or  the  aid  of  a  counsel,  Joan  sat  with  intrepid 
bearing,  her  spirit  free  though  her  limbs  were  chained. 

Upon  being  required  to  swear  to  speak  the  truth, 
she  consented,  but  refused  to  reveal  anything  connect- 
ed with  her  visions.  She  was  ordered  to  repeat  the 
Pater  and  the  Ave,  her  judges  thinking  she  would  not 
dare  to,  if  possessed  with  an  evil  spirit.  To  their  sur- 
prise she  readily  assented,  if  the  presiding  bishop  would 
hear  her  confess.  This  touching  and  confiding  demand 
overcame  the  bishop,  who  adjourned  the  sitting,  and  af- 
terwards deputed  one  of  his  assessors  to  question  the 
accused. 

As  it  was  found  impossible  to  convict  her  on  the 
ground  of  sorcerj^,  she  was  charged  with  heresy,  since 
she  refused  to  acknowledge  the  authority  of  the  church 
militant.  She  told  them  she  held  her  belief  in  God 
alone.  The  long-continued  trial,  and  her  efforts  to  sus- 
tain herself,  induced  an  illness,  from  which  she  had  not 
recovered  when  she  was  again  summoned  to  the  hall 
of  the  castle  where  the  court  sat.  Threats  of  torture 
were  given  to  intimidate  her,  but  she  adhered  firmly  to 
her  account  of  the  voices,  and  would  still  acknowledge 
none  but  the  one  God,  They  insisted  upon  her  discard- 
ing the  man's  dress  she  wore,  but  to  this  she  would  not 


JOAN  OF  ARC.  175 


consent,  it  being  her  only  protection,  and  the  dress 
which  her  saints  directed  her  to  wear. 

Led  back  to  the  tower,  where  her  every  movement 
was  watched  by  keepers  stationed  near  her,  she  became 
more  severely  ill.  In  this  situation,  her  tormentors 
visited  her,  hoping  to  make  her  yield  her  belief  while 
too  weak  to  maintain  courage  in  her  assertions.  "  The 
angel  Gabriel,"  said  she,  "  has  appeared  to  strengthen 
me."  They  were  obliged  to  leave  her,  firm  and  un- 
yielding as  she  had  ever  been. 

In  order  to  terrify  her  into  submission,  a  scaffold  was 
erected  in  the  cemetery  of  St.  Ouen,  behind  the  church 
of  the  same  name.  Joan  was  placed  upon  it  in  the 
midst  of  huissiers  and  tortures,  a  preacher,  and  an  exe- 
cutioner in  his  cart  below  her.  Opposite,  on  another 
scaffolding,  sat  Cardinal  Winchester  and  the  bishops, 
with  their  assessors  and  scribes.  The  preacher,  who  was 
to  exhort  and  urge  her  to  submission,  overdid  the  mat- 
ter by  exclaiming  violently  against  Charles  VII.,  call- 
ing him  a  heretic  in  accepting  Joan  for  a  leader.  This 
roused  thp  indignation  of  the  brave  girl  who,  in  spite 
of  threatened  terrors,  had  the  nobleness  to  defend  the 
king  who  had  deserted  her.  "On  my  faith,  sir,  I  un- 
dertake to  tell  you  and  to  swear  on  pain  of  my  life, 
that  he  is  the  noblest  Christian  of  all  Christians,  the 
sincerest  lover  of  the  faith  of  the  Church,  and  not  what 
you  call  him,"  exclaimed  she  boldly.  "  Silence  her," 
cried  out  the  bishop,  who  begar  to  read  the  sentence 
of  condemnation.  "  Abjure  or  be  burnt,"  reached  her 
ears.  Those  about  and  below  her,  entreated  her  to 
save  herself  by  acknowledging  the  power  of  the  pope. 


176  JOAN  OF   ARC. 


"  We  pity  you,  Joan,"  urged  the  people  who  crowded 
about  the  scaffold.  Overcome  at  last  with  fear  and  en- 
treaties she  consented  to  abjuje,  on  condition  she  should 
be  delivered  from  the  power  of  the  English  and  bf 
placed  in  the  hands  of  the  church, 

"What  is  to  be  done  next?"  respectfully  asked  Cari- 
chon,  the  bishop,  turning  to  Cardinal  Winchester. 
"  Admit  her  to  do  penance,"  answered  the  wily  Eng- 
lishman, which  penance  was  to  pass  the  rest  of  her 
days  in  imprisonment,  "  on  the  bread  of  grief  and  the 
water  of  anguish."  "  Take  her  back  whence  you 
brought  her,"  continued  the  bishop,  while  Joan,  dumb 
with  surprise  and  despair,  could  scarcely  move.  The 
poor  girl  had  thought  at  least  she  was  to  be  spared 
chains  and  the  hateful  dungeon.  Even  at  this  respite 
the  English  were  so  enraged  that  they  pelted  the  bishop 
with  stones,  and  the  priests  and  doctors  could  escape 
only  by  promising  they  should  soon  have  her  again. 

She  was  led  away  to  her  prison-house  and  chained 
to  a  beam  ;  but  this  did  not  satisfy  the  English,  who  at- 
tributed the  continued  success  of  the  French  arms  to 
her  sorcery,  exerted  even  within  the  walls  of  a  prison. 
The  guards  were  ordered  to  hang  her  armor  within 
reach,  hoping  she  would  be  tempted  to  resume  the 
dress,  and  thus  break  the  conditions  she  had  signed. 
The  result  was  what  they  wished,  and,  as  soon  as  the 
news  reached  the  cardinal,  he  gladly  exclaimed,  "  She 
is  caught  1"  The  inquisitor  and  others  were  deputed 
to  visit  and  question  her.  She  bravely  faced  them  and 
told  them  she  had  resumed  that  dress  "  because  it  was 
fitter  for  her  as  long  as  she  was  guarded  by  men." 


JOAN    OF  AEC.  177 


"  Put  me  in  a  seemly  prison  and  I  will  be  good  and 
do  whatever  the  church  shall  wish,"  said  she. 

The  next  dav  it  was  told  her  she  must  die.  She 
wept  pitifully,  tearing  her  hair  and  mourning  that  she 
was  to  endure  the  frightful  torture  of  being  burned. 
After  the  first  burst  of  grief,  she  confessed  and  asked 
to  receive  the  sacrament,  which  was  granted  her,  with 
the  inconsistency  of  condemning  her  as  a  heretic  and 
at  the  same  time  granting  her  all  the  ordinances  of  the 
church. 

The  following  morning  she  was  dressed  in  female 
attire,  placed  on  a  cart,  accompanied  by  priests,  and 
surrounded  by  a  guard  of  eight  hundred  Englishmen, 
armed  with  sword  and  lance,  who  conveyed  her  to  the 
old  market-place.  She  wept  as  they  went  along,  cry- 
ing out,  " O  Rouen,  Rouen  1  must  I  then  die  here?" 

Three  scaffolds  were  erected,  one  upon  which  a 
throne  was  placed  for  the  Cardinal  Winchester  and  the 
prelates,  the  other  for  the  judges  and  preacher,  and 
the  third  built  high  and  filled  underneath  with  fagots, 
was  for  the  harmless  victim.  The  ceremony  began 
Nvith  a  sermon,  preached  by  one  of  the  doctors  of  the 
university  of  Paris.  This  was  followed  by  exhorta- 
tions fi:om  the  bishops  to  recant  all  she  had  said  con- 
cerning her  angels,  but  though  she  was  bitterly  disap- 
pointed that  none  had  come  to  rescue  her,  and  hei 
confidence  in  the  voices  thus  sorely  tried,  because  they 
failed  to  deliver  her,  still  she  affirmed  the  truth  of  her 
assertions  and  persisted  in  rejecting  the  pope  and  his 
minions.  "  Though  you  should  tear  off  my  limbs  and 
pluck  my  soul  from  my  body,  I  would  say  nothing 
12 


178  JOAN   OF   ARC. 


else,"  she  cried.  She  knelt  upon  the  platform,  in- 
voked God,  the  virgin,  St.  Michael,  and  St.  Catherine, 
then  turned  to  those  who  had  accused  her.  forgave 
them  their  injuries,  and  besought  their  pardon,  asking 
them  to  pray  for  her.  She  entreated  the  priests  each 
to  say  a  mass  for  her  soul.  Her  manner,  voice,  and 
look  were  so  full  of  grief,  and  her  appeals  so  touching 
that,  with  contagious  sympathy,  every  beholder  wept — 
even  the  cruel  cardinal.  Vexed  at  betraying  such  weak- 
ness, the  judges  dried  their  eyes,  and  crushing .  the 
momentary  feeling  of  kindness  for  the  lovely  and 
friendless  girl,  proceeded  to  read  her  condemnation  in 
a  stern  voice. 

The  fagots  were  kindled,  and  as  they  crackled  and 
burned  beneath  the  platform,  she  cried  out  for  a  cruci- 
fix. An  Englishman  gave  her  one  he  had  hastily  carv- 
ed out  of  a  stick,  but  she  entreated  them  to  bring  one 
from  the  neighboring  church,  which,  after  some  hesita- 
tion, was  obtained  and  held  up  before  her.  At  last, 
overcome  with  terror,  and  suffocated  with  the  smoke 
and  flames  that  curled  about  her  delicate  form,  she  ex- 
pired with  prayers  on  her  lips.  The  multitude  wept 
at  her  sufferings,  and  silently  dispersed,  full  of  con- 
sternation at  the  deed.  Even  the  executioner  hasten- 
ed to  relieve  his  terror  and  remorse  by  confession. 

Thus  perished  a  fair  and  innocent  girl  who  had  com- 
mitted no  crime  but  that  of  seeking  to  rescue  her  nation 
from  the  grasp  of  a  hated  enemy.  Pure,  gentle,  and 
heroic,  imbued  with  the  superstition  of  the  times,  gift- 
ed with  a  vivid,  intense  imagination  that  had  become 
morbid  through  her  early  habits  of  lonely  communion, 


JOAN   OF  ARC.  179 


it  was  not  wonderfal  that  she  should  imagine  she  con- 
versed with  spirits,  in  an  age  when  every  one  consuhed 
unseen  spirits  and  fairies  to  some  extent;  she  was 
educated  from  the  cradle  in  the  belief  of  visions  of 
saints  and  angels,  assurances  of  which  fell  daily  upon 
her  ear  in  tales  and  legends  from  her  mother's  lips. 
The  French  believed  and  accepted  her  as  a  celestial 
deliverer,  investing  her  with  a  supernatural  power 
which  she  did  not  claim.  On  one  occasion  at  Bourges, 
when  the  women  prayed  her  to  touch  crosses  and  chap- 
lets,  she  laughed  merrily,  and  said,  "  Touch  them  your- 
selves, they  will  be  just  as  good.'' 

Her  success,  was  simply  that  of  a  warrior  who  in- 
spires his  troops  with  his  own  courage  and  confidence 
of  victory,  and  rushes  to  battle  with  an  impetuosity 
that  sometimes  supplies  a  lack  of  skill.  She  took  ad- 
vantage of  the  superstition  of  those  she  led  as  well  as 
those  she  opposed.  She  embodied  their  ideal  of  an 
angel  in  mortal  form,  by  the  purity  of  her  beauty, 
manner,  and  words  which  was  manifested  even  in  her 
equipments,  and  thus  they  followed  her  with  a  unity 
and  enthusiasm  that  gave  strength  to  a  party  that  pre- 
viously owed  its  weakness  to  an  indolent  ana  despair- 
ing prince,  and  to  the  divisions  and  feuds  among  the 
leading  nobility. 

Through  all  the  deference  and  honors  paid  her,  she 
never  lost  the  child-like  sweetness  and  simplicity  that 
were  singularly  united  in  her  character  with  good 
sense,  shrewdness,  and  woman's  subtlety. 

Charles  VII,,  who  owed  his  crown  and  kingdom  to 
her  heroic  exertions,  acknowledged  the  debt  by  causing 


180  JOAN  OF  ARC. 


a  monument  to  be  erected  to  her  memory  in  Paris  so 
soon  as  his  power  was  established.  The  inhabitants 
of  Rouen  testified  their  admiration  of  her  and  their  dis- 
approbation of  the  unjust  sentence,  by  erecting  a  statue 
that  still  stands  in  the  market-place  of  the  old  city. 

The  house  in  which  she  was  born  was  afterwards  re- 
paired on  the  original  plan  by  the  king's  orders,  and 
still  remains  in  Dom-Eeray.  "  It  stands  near  the  church 
and  is  easily  discovered  by  a  Gothic  door  that  supports 
three  scutcheons  adorned  with  the  fleur-de-lys,  and  a 
statue,  in  which  she  is  represented  in  full  armor.  It 
became  national  property  during  the  reign  of  Louis 
XVin.,  who  granted  the  village  twelve  thousand 
francs  to  build  a  monument  to  the  memory  of  Joan, 
eight  thousand  for  the  education  of  young  girls  in 
Dom-Eemy  and  the  neighboring  hamlets,  and  another 
eight  thousand  as  a  support  for  a  sister  of  charity  to 
teach  the  school."  A  fine  painting,  the  gift  of  the 
king,  decorates  the  principal  room  of  the  house. 

In  the  market-place,  which  is  surrounded  by  poplar 
trees,  and  watered  by  a  fountain,  is  placed  a  statue  of 
the  Maid.     On  the  monument  is  the  simple  inscription 

"  To  the  memoi'y  of  Joan  of  Arc." 


MARIA  THERESA. 


(   <   r  < 


^ymd^Oy'^^^OeM^.  0m^l^^.^j!a^^^^/^^m'^  ^ 


Jfiaria  CfiBresa. 

We  will  not  from  the  helm,  to  sit  and  weep; 

But  keep  om-  course,  though  the  rough  wind  say,  No. 

Shak. 

Austria  is  a  name  that  suggests  the  ideas  of  despot- 
ism, cruelty  and  bigotry.  In  these  respects,  it  is  a  land 
that  has  no  rival,  except  Russia.  Every  humane  and 
free  heart  must  burn  with  indignation  at  the  mere  men- 
tion of  those  Empires.  But  Austria,  however  repul- 
sive as  a  blood-thirsty  power,  has  much  attractive  in- 
terest in  its  several  provinces  and  noted  places,  and  in 
portions  of  its  history.  Bohemia,  Moravia  and  Hun- 
gary, have  associations  that  are  dear  to  art,  to  religion, 
and  to  liberty.  Austerlitz  is  a  word  of  potent  influ- 
ence, and  Vienna  is  full  of  picturesque  imagery,  for  it 
is  the  name  of  a  capital  than  which  there  is  none  more 
gay,  magnificent,  and  enriched  with  curiosities. 

"  Not  in  any  other  town 

With  statelier  progress  to  and  fro 
The  double  tides  of  chariots  flow 
By  park  and  suburb,  under  browo 


184  MARIA  THERESA. 


Of  lustier  leaves  ;  nor  more  content, 
Or  pleasure,  lives  in  any  crowd, 
When  all  is  gay  with  lamps,  and  loud 

With  sport  and  song,  in  booth  and  tent, 

Imperial  halls,  or  open  plain  ; 

And  wheels  the  circled  dance,  and  breaka 

The  rocket  molten  into  flakes 
Of  crimson  or  in  emerald  rain." 

And  as  for  the  history  of  Austria,  it  would  have 
enough  charm,  if  it  only  bore  the  noble  name  of  Maria 
Theresa.  In  her  we  behold,  indeed,  some  of  the  worst 
peculiarities  of  her  royal  line,  but  softened  by  her 
womanly  nature,  and  receiving  from  that  nature  many 
a  balancing  virtue.  If  her  censorship  of  the  press  and 
espionage  of  private  life,  were  worthy  of  her  detestable 
successors,  her  great  and  successful  enterprises,  mili- 
tary, educational  and  industrial,  and  her  reforms  in 
church  and  state,  were  worthy  of  her  beauty,  talent  and 
exalted  character. 

Vienna  was  her  birthplace,  and  her  birthday  the  13th 
of  May,  1717.  As  usual,  the  royal  child  received  a 
baptismal  name  proportioned  in  length  to  her  imperial 
ancestry,  and  superfluous  as  her  fortune  ;  it  was  Maria- 
Theresa- Valperga- Amelia-Christina  —  a  grand  name, 
"  like  a  carriage  of  state  with  six  horses."  Nothing 
short  of  a  family  that,  like  Maria  Theresa's — the  House 
of  Hapsburgh,  had  reigned  four  hundred  years,  and 
had  absorbed  so  many  states  and  races  into  its  vast  em- 
pire, should  justify  such  a  parade  of  praenomenes. 

Her  father,  the  Emperor  Charles  VI.,  was  a  man  of 
dull  perceptions  and  extraordinary  gravity,  very  punc- 


MARIA   THERESA.  185 


tilious  in  all  matters  of  form,  and  of  a  benevolent  dis- 
position. He  labored  to  improve  the  condition  of  his 
dominions,  rebuilt  roads,  encouraged  commerce,  manu- 
factures and  art,  revised  the  laws  of  Hungary,  and  es- 
tablished museums  and  libraries.  He  was  fond  of  ath- 
letic sports,  such  as  hunting  and  shooting  at  a  mark, 
but  his  ruling  passion  was  music.  He  composed  an 
opera,  and  himself  led  the  orchestra,  while  his  daugh- 
ters acted  as  ballet-dancers.  The  costume  and  scenery 
of  one  of  these  exhibitions  cost  him  over  a  hundred 
and  thirty  thousand  dollars.  From  Italy,  he  attracted 
to  his  court  Metastasio,  who  composed  some  of  his  best 
operas  at  "Vienna,  and  was  Italian  preceptor  to  the 
young  princesses.  But,  in  consequence  of  the  imbecil- 
ity of  Charles  and  his  advisers,  his  reign  nearly  ruined 
his  empire  ;  his  best  general,  Prince  Eugene,  died,  and 
his  enemies  made  encroachments  on  every  side.  The 
English  ambassador  wrote  home  that  "  everything  in 
this  court  is  running  into  the  last  confusion  and  ruin, 
where  there  are  as  visible  signs  of  folly  and  madness  as 
ever  were  inflicted  on  a  people  whom  Heaven  is  deter- 
mined to  destroy,  no  less  by  domestic  divisions  than  by 
the  more  public  calamities  of  repeated  defeats,  defence- 
lessness,  poverty,  plague  and  famine."  The  loss  of 
Belgrade,  surrendered  by  a  treaty  to  the  Turks,  and 
the  menacing  conduct  of  the  French,  preyed  on  his 
spirits,  undermined  his  health,  and  inflamed  his  ail- 
ments of  gout  and  indigestion.  With  reckless  impru- 
dence, he  insisted  on  taking,  a  hunting  excursion,  and 
eat  immoderately  of  mushrooms  stewed  in  oil.  This 
prostrated  him  beyond  recovery ;  he  took  an  affection- 


186  MARIA  THERESA. 


ate  leave  of  his  family,  and  died  in  1740,  when  Maria 
Theresa  was  twenty-three  years  of  age. 

His  wife  was  Elizabeth  Christina,  daughter  of  Louis 
Ehodolph,  Duke  of  Brunswick.  By  her,  he  was  the 
father  of  a  son,  who  died  in  infancy,  and  three  daugh- 
ters, one  of  whom  died  in  childhood ;  the  others  were 
Maria  Theresa,  the  eldest,  and  Maria  Amelia;  they 
married  brothers,  Francis,  Duke  of  Lorraine,  and 
Prince  Charles  of  Lorraine.  The  latter,  Maria  Ame- 
lia's husband,  was  distinguished  in  the  wars  of  Theresa's 
accession  to  the  throne.  The  mother,  like  the  daugh- 
ters, was  famed  for  beauty,  elegant  manners  and  kind 
disposition. 

The  sisters,  who  bore  the  title  of  archduchesses,  were 
very  unlike  in  their  style  of  person,  mind  and  charac- 
ter. Equally  fascinating,  Maria  Amelia  had  less  intel- 
lect and  confidence  and  brilhancy  of  feature.  Maria 
Theresa  was  full  of  life  and  dignity.  She  seemed  every 
way  constituted  for  a  queen.  Her  form  was  tall  and 
well-proportioned,  her  face  regular,  her  eyes  a  bright 
gray,  her  complexion  clear,  her  voice  musical,  and  her 
bearing  at  once  majestic  and  graceful.  In  her  youth, 
her  temper  was  sufl&ciently  gentle  and  yielding,  her 
heart  overflowing  with  tenderness ;  it  was  not  until 
she  assumed  the  sceptre,  and  found  herself  threatened 
on  every  side  by  hostile  invasions,  that  the  unrelent- 
mg  determination  of  her  character  was  drawn  forth, 
and,  indeed,  a  degree  of  resoluteness  was  demanded 
that  hardly  differed  from  the  obstinacy  peculiar  to  her 
family-blood. 

She  was  educated,  after  the  manner  of  the  age,  more 


MAKIE  THERESA.  187 


in  feminine  accomplishments  than  in  the  solid  acquire- 
ments that  would  best  fit  her  for  a  station  of  great  au- 
thority. From  her  father,  she  inherited  a  passion  for 
music,  which  was  carefully  developed  under  her  dis- 
tinguished instructors,  among  whom  was  Metastasio. 
He  took  much  pride  in  her  proficiency,  especially  in 
the  Italian  language,  and  could  not  praise  too  highly 
her  talent  and  gentleness.  Happily,  the  family  pride 
so  assiduously  nourished  by  the  House  of  Hapsburgh, 
induced  in  her  a  studious  acquaintance  with  the  history 
and  condition  of  her  expected  empire,  so  that  a  founda- 
tion was  laid  for  her  able  administration.  At  the  same 
time,  the  seeds  of  her  after  bigotry,  were  sown  and 
cultivated  by  the  thousand  Komanish  observances,  to 
which  a  great"  part  of  her  time  was  set  apart.  It  fos- 
tered, however,  a  strong  rehgious  inclination  that  might 
have  made  her  a  saint,  in  the  annals  of  a  more  enlight- 
ened creed  than  that  of  Rome. 

At  the  age  of  fourteen,  she  was  required,  as  a  matter 
of  custom  for  the  heir-apparent  to  the  crown,  to  be 
present  at  the  meetings  of  the  royal  council.  She  had 
no  share,  of  course,  in  the  debates,  but,  however  long 
and  tedious  the  sessions  were,  she  always  showed  the 
liveliest  interest  in  everything  said,  whether  intelligible 
to  her  or  not.  The  need  of  being  well  versed  in  affairs 
of  state,  was  apparently  anticipated  by  her  shrewd  ap- 
prehension. The  only  part  she  was  permitted  to  take 
in  the  proceedings,  was  the  offering  of  petitions,  en- 
trusted to  her  care.  Her  immature  years  and  ready 
good-wiU  made  her  freouently  subject  to  such  appli- 
cations; and  when  her  father  rebuked  her  with  the 


188  MARIA  THERESA. 


words,  "  You  seem  to  think  a  sovereign  has  nothing 
to  do  but  to  grant  favors,"  she  replied,  with  a  pre- 
cocious wisdom,  "I  see  nothing  else  that  can  make  a 
crown  supportable."  At  so  early  a  period  of  life,  she 
saw  that  her  father's  miseries  were  not  outweighed  by 
the  empty  shows  of  imperial  grandeur. 

The  young  Francis,  Duke  of  Lorraine,  whose  mother 
was  a  first  cousin  of  the  Emperor,  had  been  brought 
up  at  the  court  of  Yienna,  as  the  destined  husband  of 
Maria  Theresa.  From  infancy,  they  had  associated  to- 
gether, and  now,  in  youth,  became  more  romantically 
devoted  to  each  other.  He  had  every  quality  to  capti- 
vate her  heart.  Though  not  powerful  or  brilliant  in 
mind,  he  was  intelligent  and  kind  ;  and  he  was  brave, 
manly,  accomplished  and  remarkably  handsome. 

When  the  archduchess  had  reached  the  age  of  eigh- 
teen, her  father's  government  was  so  much  endangered 
by  the  triumphs  of  foes  and  the  indifference  of  pledged 
friends,  that  he  was  urged  to  break  up  the  proposed 
union  with  Francis,  and  give  his  daughter  to  Don  Car- 
los, of  Spain,  as  a  last  resort  to  uphold  his  own  power. 
The  Spanish  minister  at  his  court,  recommended  that 
both  daughters  be  married  to  princes  of  Spain.  But 
Maria  Theresa,  already  betrothed,  remonstrated  so 
warmly  that  the  emperor  knew  not  what  to  do.  In 
the  words  of  the  English  minister,  "  She  is  a  princess 
of  the  highest  spirit ;  her  father's  losses  are  her  own. 
She  reasons  already ;  she  enters  into  affairs ;  she  ad- 
mires his  virtues,  but  condemns  his  mismanagement ; 
and  is  of  a  temper  so  formed  for  rule  and  ambition  as 
to  look  upon  him  as  little  more  than  her  administrator. 


MAKIA   THERESA.  189 


NoUvithstanding  this  lofty  humor  by  day,  she  sighs 
and  pines  all  night  for  her  Duke  of  Lorraine.  If  she 
sleeps,  it  is  only  to  dream  of  him ;  if  she  wakes,  it  is 
but  to  talk  of  him  to  the  lady  in  waiting ;  so  that  there 
is  no  more  probability  of  her  forgetting  the  very  indi- 
vidual government,  and  the  very  individual  husband 
which  she  thinks  herself  born  to,  than  of  her  forgiving 
the  authors  of  losing  either."  The  empress  joined  her 
own  to  the  entreaties  of  her  daughter ;  the  German 
ministers  interfered  in  behalf  of  the  duke ;  and  the  em- 
peror, driven  to  sleepless  distraction,  finally  yielded  to 
the  wish  of  his  family,  and  strengthened  his  power  by 
a  treaty  with  his  old  enemy  France,  giving  the  duchy 
of  Bar  and  Francis'  inheritance  of  Lorraine,  in  ex- 
change for  Tuscany. 

Francis  and  Maria  Theresa,  thus  saved  from  separa- 
tion by  her  constancy  and  resolution,  were  married 
at  Vienna  in  February,  1736.  Two  s\teet  children 
crowned  this  year's  happiness.  Blessed  in  these,  and 
in  their  own  youth,  beauty,  love  and  splendid  position 
and  prospects,  nothing  could  exceed  the  brightness  of 
their  union.  But  the  common  lot  of  trouble  was  in 
store  for  them.  The  duke  was  appointed  to  the  com- 
mand of  an  army  sent  against  the  Turks,  in  the  first 
year  of  his  marriage.  He  was  courageous,  and  often 
risked  his  life  ;  but  he  was  not  a  great  and  successful 
commander,  and  he  was,  moreover,  fettered  by  the  in- 
structions of  the  court,  and  by  the  lack  of  needed 
means.  Victorious  at  first,  the  army  suffered  sad  re- 
verses and  was  weakened  by  pestilence.  Francis  re- 
turned to  Vienna  to  meet  the  complaints  of  the  em- 


190  MARIA  THERESA. 


peror,  the  cold  welcome  of  the  powerful,  the  unjust 
contempt  of  the  people,  but  to  be  greeted  also  by  the 
warm  sympathy  of  his  wife,  whose  fear  for  his  expo- 
sures was  now  changed  to  indignation  at  his  treat- 
ment. 

Her  father  found  it  advisable  to  send  her  and  the 
duke  to  Tuscany,  ostensibly  to  visit  their  new  estates, 
and  he  talked  of  changing  the  heirship  of  the  crown  to 
his  youngest  daughter,  and  betrothing  her  to  the  Elec- 
tor of  Bavaria.  All  this  was  probably  done  to  appease 
the  popular  feeling.  At  Florence,  the  young  wife  was 
very  discontented ;  the  climate  was  disagreeable  to  her 
more  northern. associations;  she  saw  little  to  admire  in 
the  people,  or  the  city  and  scenery;  she  was  in  con- 
tinual distress  about  the  misguided  state  of  affairs  at 
home,  whereby  her  vast  inheritance  was  rapidly  dwin- 
dling.* And  Charles  himself  did  not  long  manage  to 
dispense  with  his  daughter's  clearer  mind  and  firmer 
character. 

Four  years  passed  since  her  nuptials,  when  she  was 
called  to  the  throne  by  the  death  of  her  father,  whose 
end  was  hastened  by  his  repeated  misfortunes.  She 
was  twenty- three  when  she  thus  began  to  enjoy  the 
various  titles  of  Queen  of  Hungary  and  Bohemia, 
Archduchess  of  Austria,  Sovereign  of  the  Netherlands, 
Duchess  of  Milan,  of  Parma,  and  Placentia,  and  Grrand- 
duchess  of  Tuscany,  all  of  which  honors  are  summed 
up  in  the  one  name  of  Empress  of  Austria.  She 
swayed  the  sceptre  over  various  nations,  with  diverse 
languages  and  laws,  and  only  held  together  by  sub- 
mission to  one  sovereign. 


MARIA  THERESA.  191 


It  WAS  the  richest  empire  of  Europe,  but  its  treasury 
was  drained,  its  armies  scattered,  its  provinces  disaf- 
fected, and,  on  every  side,  were  greedy  governments 
to  whom  her  accession  was  the  signal  to  fall  upon  her 
dominions  and  divide  them  among  themselves.  The 
famous  Pragmatic  Sanction  was  to  be  broken  by  all. 
This  was  a  treaty  Avhich  it  had  been  the  labor  of 
Charles'  life  to  establish.  By  it,  the  European  powers 
had  guaranteed  to  support  the  claims  of  Maria  Theresa 
to  the  imperial  crown,  instead  of  the  daughters  of  Em- 
peror Joseph,  the  predecessor  and  brother  of  Charles, 
and  to  whose  family  the  succession  should  have  re- 
verted according  to  Charles'  own  solemn  promise. 
These  daughters  had  married,  the  eldest  the  Elector 
of  Bavaria,  the  youngest  the  Elector  of  Saxony. 

France,  jealous  of  the  ascendency  of  Austria,  with 
various  false  excuses  deferred  to  acknowledge  Maria 
Theresa,  and  prepared  to  assist  the  pretensions  of  the 
Bavarian  Elector,  who  claimed  Austria,  Hungary,  and 
Bohemia.  The  King  of  Spain  made  the  same  preten- 
sion, and  set  on  foot  an  expedition  against  the  Italian 
dependencies  of  the  empire.  The  Sardinian  king  had 
his  eye  on  Milan ;  and  the  King  of  Prussia,  Frederic  II., 
marched  for  Silesia  before  his  designs  were  known  at 
Vienna,  and  took  possession  of  it.  He  proved  to  be 
the  almost  life-long  and  very  dangerous  enemy  of  the 
empress,  although  he  entertained  high  personal  respect 
for  her  character.  His  father,  without  engaging  much 
m  war,  had  made  it  his  empty  pride  to  discipline  a 
vast  standing  army  amass  money,  and  drill  his  son  in 
military   science.      Frederic   had    resisted    this   stern 


192  MARIA   THERESA. 


schooling  and  devoted  liimself  passionately  to  litera- 
ture and  art.  But,  so  soon  as,  about  this  time,  he 
mounted  the  throne  of  his  father,  he  suddenly  revealed 
extraordinary  ambition  and  skill  as  a  politician  and 
commander. 

Thus  was  the  young  and  beautiful  Maria  Theresa 
at  the  instant  the  diadem  was  placed  on  her  hend. 
called  "to  take  arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles."  Her 
own  strong  understanding  and  strong  will  were  all  that 
she  could  rely  upon.  Her  husband  was  brave  and 
tender,  but  with  no  talents  nor  disposition  to  assume 
the  guidance  of  affairs ;  he  was  devoted  to  pleasure, 
and  seems  to  have  trusted  more  to  his  wife's  intelli- 
gence and  decision,  than  to  his  own.  The  members 
of  the  state-council  were  weak  men,  who  were  con- 
founded by  the  difficulties  that  beset  them.  Barten- 
stein,  who  was  their  chief,  and  had  been  under  Charles, 
was  a  man  of  facile  pen  and  tongue,  faithful  to  hia 
trust,  but  too  shallow  for  his  responsible  position, 
England  alone,  although  afterwards  tardy  in  many  of 
her  engagements,  was  enthusiastic  in  favor  of  the 
empress;  the  English  ladies,  indeed,  subscribed  some 
four  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  in  her  aid. 
But  she  did  not  find  it  consistent  to  accept  it,  and,  for 
the  present,  was  virtually  without  allies,  armies,  coun- 
sellors, and  money.  Never  was  a  sky  darker  than 
hers.  All  who  were  around  her,  expressed  only  de- 
spair in  their  countenances.  The  army  that  had  been 
hastily  raised  to  oppose  the  aggressions  of  Frederic, 
was  defeated  by  his  troops,  in  Silesia.  The  French, 
appealed  to  in  remembrance  of  the  Pragmatic  Sanction, 


MARIA   THERESA.  193 


by  which  they  were  bound,  gave  evasive  answers,  until 
they  marched  their  forces  across  the  Rhine,  joined  the 
Elector  of  Bavaria,  subdued  Bohemia,  and  approached 
the  gates  of  Vienna  itself. 

Still  was  Maria  Theresa  undaunted,  although  the 
crisis  of  her  fate  grew  desperate  even  to  sublimity. 
The  birth  of  a  son,  whose  destiny  was  involved  in  that 
of  the  empire,  like  her  own,  was  perhaps  opportune  at 
this  dark  hour,  for  it  roused  all  the  lioness  within  her. 
The  mother  will  dare  for  her  offspring  that  which  she 
would  shrink  from,  for  her  own  sake.  The  bold  and 
wise  resolution  of  the  empress  was  taken.  By  it,  she 
at  once  saved  herself  and  her  magnificent  realm.  His- 
tory and  romance  have  no  more  inspiring  and  memor- 
able story  to  relate.     It  is  glorious  as  a  dream. 

The  Hungarians,  whose  struggles  in  this  century 
have  excited  universal  sympath}^,  had  been  relieved 
from  pohtical  evils  by  Maria  Theresa,  who  restored 
to  them  their  privileges.  For  this  they  were  deeply 
grateful  to  her.  She  was  their  queen,  in  virtue  of  a 
previous  union  of  Austria  and  Hungary  by  the  mar- 
riage of  their  respective  sovereigns. 

In  the  great  emergency  of  her  dominions,  therefore, 
she  went  to  Presburg  to  be  crowned,  it  being  the  cus- 
tom to  repeat  the  act  of  coronation  in  each  of  the 
several  kingdoms  acknowledging  one  head.  The  cere 
mony  took  ulace,  on  the  13th  of  June,  1741.  Accord- 
ing to  the  ancient  usage,  the  iron  crown  of  St.  Stephen 
was  placed  on  her,  having  been  lined  with  cushions  to 
make  it  fit  her  womanly  head ;  his  ragged  and  vener- 
ated robe  covered  her  jewelled  dress,  and  his  scimiter 


194  MAKIA   THEJbiESA. 


was  girded  at  her  side.  An  eye-witness  of  the  scene 
writes  that  "  the  antiquated  crown  received  new  graces 
from  her  head,  and  the  old  tattered  robe  of  St.  Stephen 
Decame  her  as  well  as  her  own  habit,  if  diamonds, 
pearls,  and  all  sorts  of  precious  stones  can  be  called 
clothes."  She  rode  gallantly  to  the  top  of  the  Royal 
Mount,  a  hill  near  Presburg,  and  -went  gracefully 
through  the  ceremony  of  waving  the  drawn  sabre  and 
defying  "the  four  corners  of  the  world."  Then  she 
returned,  and  dined  in  public.  The  heat  and  fatigue 
had  heightened  the  color  of  her  transparent  com- 
plexion, the  crown  was  removed,  and  her  rich  masses 
of  hair  fell  in  curls  over  her  shoulders  and  breast.  Her 
appearance,  her  recent  liberal  concessions,  and  her  de- 
fenceless situation,  aroused  the  warmest  enthusiasm  of 
the  brave  and  chivalric  Hungarians. 

She  knew  that  she  could  trust  herself  and  fortunes 
to  their  generosity  and  invincible  prowess ;  and,  hav- 
ing summoned  the  representatives  of  all  orders  of  the 
state  to  meet  in  diet  at  the  great  hall  of  the  castle,  she 
appeared,  clad  in  mourning  and  the  Hungarian  cos- 
tume, and  still  wearing  the  crown  and  scimiter  which 
were  regarded  by  the  nation  with  such  religious  respect. 
^yith  slow,  stately  steps,  she  walked  thro  ugh  the  apart- 
ment, and  ascended  the  tribune,  from  which  it  was  cus- 
tomary for  sovereigns  to  address  the  states.  After  an 
impressive  silence,  the  chancellor  stated  her  distresses 
and  requested  speedy  assistance.  Then  she  herself 
made  a  short  speech  in  Latin,  a  language  in  common 
use  among  the  Hungarians.  She  appealed  to  the  depu- 
'i-s,  declaring  that  her  only  resource  was  in  their  faitli- 


MAIUA    THERESA.  195 


fulness,  arms  and  tried  valor ;  she  called  on  them  to 
deliberate  as  to  the  best  means  of  rescuing  her  from 
danger,  and  promised  always  to  seek  their  happiness. 
Her  words  and  her  loveliness  set  on  fire  all  the  admira- 
tion and  martial  Spirit  of  the  assembly  ;  they  half  drew 
their  swords  and  flung  them  back  in  their  brazen  scab- 
bards with  a  loud  ringing  sound,  and  shouted,  "  We 
will  consecrate  our  lives  and  arms;  we  will  die  for  our 
king,  Maria  Theresa !"  It  was  a  law  that  no  queen 
could  reign  over  them,  and  hence  they  called  her  king. 
She  was  overcome  by  this  outburst  of  zeal,  and  wept 
for  joy  and  gratitude.  Such  an  evidence  of  sensibility 
Kindled  their  enthusiasm  almost  to  madness  ;  they  shed 
tears  of  sympathy,  and  wildly  gesticulating  their  reso- 
lution, retired  and  voted  abundant  supplies  of  men  and 
money. 

A  similar  scene  occurred,  when  the  Duke  of  Lor- 
raine appeoj-ed  to  take  oath,  as  co-regent  of  the  king- 
dom. At  the  conclusion  of  the  act,  he  waved  his  hand, 
and  said,  "  My  blood  and  life  for  the  queen  and  king- 
dom." At  the  same  moment,  she  held  up  her  infant 
son.  An  exulting  cry  again  arose ;  and  the  deputies 
repeated  their  vow,  "  We  will  die  for  our  king  and  her 
family ;  we  will  die  for  Maria  Theresa." 

"  Fair  Austria  spreads  her  mournful  chai-ma, 


Tlie  queen,  the  beauty,  sees  the  world  in  arms ; 
From  hill  to  hill  the  beacon's  towering  blaze 
Spreads  wide  the  hope  of  plunder  and  of  praise 
The  fierce  Croatian,  and  the  wild  Hussar, 
With  all  the  sous  of  ravage,  crowd  the  war." 

'^^e  coup-iVetat  of  the  empress  soon  changed   the 


196  MARIA  THERESA. 


whole  face  of  affairs.  Nuruerous  half-savage  tribes, 
from  the  far-off  banks  of  the  Save,  the  Teiss,  the  Drave 
and  the  Danube,  sent  their  wild  warriors  to  rally  around 
her  standard.  Croats,  Paudours,  Sclavonians,  Waras- 
dinians,  and  Tolpaches,  tis  they  are  called,  astonished 
the  eyes  of  civilized  Europe  by  their  ferocious  looks, 
and  their  strange  dress,  arms,  and  mode  of  warfare. 
The  students  of  Vienna,  whose  modern  representatives 
were  bravely  active  in  the  revolution  of  1848,  mingled 
their  delicate  young  faces  with  the  shaggy  beards  of 
the  Croats  and  Pandours.  All  classes  pressed  into  the 
army,  while  the  enemies  of  Maria  Theresa  became  jeal- 
ous of  each  other,  and  divided  in  their  councils. 

Frederic  sought  peace,  in  view  of  this  turning  of  the 
tide  of  success,  yet  he  was  too  proud  to  yield  his  claim 
to  Silesia.  The  empress,  having  long  and  heroically 
resisted  this  claim,  at  length  ceded  to  him  a  part  of 
that  province,  well-knowing  that  she  was  not,  with  all 
her  new  supplies,  a  match  lor  so  many  powerful  ene- 
mies, on  the  right  hand  and  the  left.  The  Elector  of 
Bavaria,  aided  by  France,  had  already  seized  Bohemia, 
was  crowned  King  of  Prague,  and  soon  after  crowned 
Emperor  of  Germany,  at  Frankfort.  This  was  a  great 
offence  to  Maria  Theresa,  who  wished  her  husband  to  be 
elected  to  the  imperial  diadem.  And  she  was  speedily 
avenged.  The  Austrian  army,  headed  by  the  Duke  of 
Lorraine,  entered  the  capital  of  Bavaria  as  conquerors, 
the  very  day  that  the  elector  was  crowned  at  Frankfort. 

The  Austrians,  supported  by  England  and  Holland, 
achieved  one  victory  after  another.  The  English 
kiua.   George  II.,  was  himself  present  at  hazardous 


MARIA   THERKSA.  197 


battles  •  the  semi-civilized  Croatians  swam  rivers,  each 
with  his  sabre  in  his  mouth,  and,  mounting  on  each 
other's  shoulders,  scaled  castle-walls  ;  the  provinces  in 
Italy  were  fortified,  and  the  Spanish  and  French  inva- 
sions repulsed  in  that  direction ;  Cardinal  Fleury,  foi 
seventeen  years  the  animating  soul  of  the  court  of 
France,  died  and  left  his  nation  without  a  pilot ;  the 
French,  besieged  at  Prague,  were  weakened  by  disease 
and  famine,  and  at  last  fled  to  the  Khine,  leaving  twelve 
hundred  men,  destroyed  by  cold  and  hunger,  to  mark 
their  track.  Through  the  whole  campaign,  Maria 
Theresa  issued  her  orders  with  great  determination 
and  wisdom.  Her  will  seemed  to  have  grown  relent- 
less and  imperious,  by  the  difficulties  she  had  met  and 
overcome.  She  was  vexed  exceedingly  at  the  escape 
of  the  "perfidious  French,"  for  whom  she  had  no 
mercy  ;  she  celebrated  the  evacuation  of  Prague  with 
public  chariot-races,  in  imitation  of  the  Greeks ;  and 
herself  and  her  sister,  habited  in  appropriate  costume, 
took  the  reins,  among  others,  and  drove  adventurously 
around  the  course,  with  flushed  faces,  erect  forms  and 
streaming  robes,  to  the  admiration  of  all  beholders. 
Aiter  the  victory  of  Dettingen,  the  empress-queen,  re- 
turning from  a  boating  excursion,  was  cheered  by  the 
Viennese,  who  came  forth  to  meet  her  and  crowded  the 
banks  of  the  Danube,  for  nine  miles.  She  celebrated 
the  event  by  a  Te  Deum  in  the  cathedral,  and  joyous 
festivities. 

Elated  by  unexpected  success,  her  ambition,  and  her 
animosity  to  the  powers  that  had  conspired  to  crush  her, 
at  length  knew  no  bounds.     She  rejected  the  compro- 


198  MARIA    THERESA. 


raises  offered,  and  meditated  nothing  less  than  the  com- 
plete dismemberment  of  the  -French  and  Prussian  terri- 
tories. But  dissension .  began  to  prevail  among  her 
allies.  Frederic,  who  was  always  wide  awake,  guessed 
her  designs,  captured  Prague  and  threatened  her  capital 
itself.  Bavaria  also,  was  again  seized  bv  her  foes ;  and 
Maria  Theresa  was  forced  to  apply  once  more  to  her 
sympathetic  Hungarians.  She  went  to  Presburg,  and 
appealed  to  their  loyalty  with  still  greater  effect.  Count 
Palfy,  the  aged  palatine,  erected  the  great  red  banner 
of  the  kingdom,  a  signal  for  a  general  "  insurrection," 
as  a  general  levy  of  troops  was  called.  Forty-four 
thousand  men  took  up  their  march,  and  thirty  thou- 
sand others  were  collected  in  readiness.  "  This  amazing 
unanimity,"  writes  a  man  of  that  day,  "  of  a  people  so 
divided  amongst  themselves,  especially  in  point  of  re- 
ligion, could  only  be  effected  by  the  address  of  Maria 
Theresa,  who  seemed  to  possess  one  part  of  the  charac- 
ter of  Elizabeth  of  England,  that  of  making  every  man 
about  her  a  hero."  An  e<;stacy  of  zeal  prevailed  from 
the  highest  to  the  lowest  rank  of  society.  The  em- 
press sent  a  horse,  a  sword  and  a  ring  to  the  pala- 
tine ;  the  horse  was  her  own,  and  richly  caparisoned, 
and  the  sabre  was  studded  with  diamonds. 

The  tide  of  war  turned  again.  Bohemia  and  Bava- 
ria were  reconquered  ;  and  Charles  VII.  who  had  been, 
from  the  first,  a  puppet-emperor  in  the  hands  of  France, 
died  from  chagrin  and  indigestion,  like  Charles  VI. 
He  enjoined  on  his  son  to  make  no  pretensions  to  the 
crown ;  the  advice  was  complied  with,  and  Austria 
seized  the  occasion  to  secure  the  election  of  the  husbana 


MARIA   THERESA.  190 


of  the  empress — Francis,  Duke  of  Lorraine.  He  was 
crowned  at  Franldbrt,  Oct".  4th,  1745.  Maria  Theresa 
witnessed  the  ceremony  from  a  balcony,  and  cried — 
"  Long  hve  the  Emperor  Francis  1. 1"  A  general  ac- 
clamation echoed  her  words.  After  this,  she  visited 
the  army  at  Heidelberg,  numbering  sixty  thousand ; 
she  met  the  new  emperor  at  the  head  of  his  troops, 
rode  along  the  lines,  saluting  each  rank  with  charming 
grace  and  majesty,  dined  under  a  pavilion,  and  gave 
largess  to  each  soldier. 

Her  husband  being  thus  regularly  invested  with  the 
imperial  dignity,  she  was  henceforth  known  as  the 
"  Empress-queen,"  Germany  being  the  empire,  and 
Hungary  and  Bohemia  the  queendoms.  But  though 
she  had  fairly,  according  to  the  code  of  force,  won 
these  high  titles,  she  was  compelled,  out  of  regard  to 
the  Elector  of  Saxony,  who  was  a  constant  sufferer  in 
her  cause,  to  resign  Silesia  to  Prussia,  by  a  final  treaty. 
This  humiliation  she  had  resisted  for  years,  and  with 
an  immense  expenditure  of  gold  and  blood.  It  was 
her  pride  to  preserve  entire  the  whole  empire ;  Fred- 
eric had  been  her  first  assailant ;  she  could  not  forgive 
him  for  opening  the  general  war  against  her  ;  and  she 
had  declared  that  she  would  sell  her  last  shift,  before 
she  would  yield  one  inch  of  Silesia.  But,  in  Italy  and 
Holland,  her  foes  were  triumphing;  Marshal  Saxe 
was  retrieving  the  glory  of  French  arms ;  England 
was  tired  of  furnishing  money  to  Austria  at  the  rate  of 
a  million  pounds  in  one  year,  and  had,  moreover,  a  re- 
bellion at  home  to  attend  to ;  and  thus  she  was  forced 
to  consult  prudence. 


200  MARIA  THERESA. 


In  1748,  a  general  peace  was  ratified  by  tlie  celebrated 
treaty  of  Aix-Ia-Chapelle,  at  which  the  plenipotentiarie? 
of  all  the  leading  powers,  met.  Even  then  and  there, 
Count  Kaunitz,  acting  under  the  instructions  of  the  in- 
domitable empress-queen,  endeavored  to  break  up  the 
conference,  so  unwilling  was  she  to  lose  any  territory, 
Avhile  a  florin  was  left  in  her  coffers,  or  a  soldier  under 
her  command.  As  it  was,  she  gave  up  Silesia,  Parma, 
Placentia,  and  Guastilla. 

She  now  turned  her  attention  to  the  internal  admin- 
istration of  the  realm.  To  be  well  prepared  for  any 
new  wars,  she  adopted  a  better  discipline  of  the  army, 
founded  a  military  academy  at  the  capital,  and  inspect- 
ed the  camps  and  garrisons.  The  discerning  Frederic 
acknowledged  that  her  power  over  the  hearts  of  her 
soldiers  was  magical,  and  that  the  Austrian  army, 
never  before  so  well  trained,  had  been  made  to  achieve 
successes  worthy  of  a  great  man. 

In  civil  affairs,  her  energy  was  no  less  conspicuous 
than  in  military.  Among  many  other  beneficial  meas- 
ures, she  revised  the  courts  of  justice,  abolished  the 
custom  of  torture,  and  carried  out  a  new  plan  of  taxa- 
tion, by  which,  after  eight  years  of  war  and  the  sur- 
render of  four  states,  the  revenues  still  exceeded  those 
of  any  former  reign  by  six  millions  of  florins.  She  un- 
dertook to  civilize  the  Gipsies,  who  abound  more  in 
Hungary  and  Bohemia  than  elsewhere,  but  neither  re- 
wards nor  punishments  could  induce  that  strange  race 
to  mingle  with  others  and  adopt  a  stationary  and  labo- 
rious life.  The  glory  of  her  family  and  the  good  of 
her  people,  seemed  to  be  the  animating  motives  of 


MARIA  THRRfiSA.  201 


Maria  Theresa,  in  all  these  reforms  and  enterprises. 
She  sought  advice  or  information  from  all  quarters, 
yet  would  not  be  dictated  to,  in  her  plans. 

Her  vigilance  and  activity  were  commendable,  but 
were  carried  to  an  extreme  injurious  to  her  own  health 
and  comfort.  She  rose  at  five,  breakfasted  on  a  cup 
of  milk-coffee,  and  then  attended  mass.  "  The  floor  of 
her  room  was  so  contrived,  that  it  opened  by  a  sliding 
parquet,  and  mass  was  celebrated  in  the  chapel  be- 
neath :  thus  she  assisted  at  the  ceremony  without  be- 
ing seen,  and  with  as  little  trouble  and  loss  of  time  as 
possible.  She  then  proceeded  to  business ;  every  Tues- 
day she  received  the  ministers  of  the  different  apart- 
ments ;  other  days  were  set  apart  for  giving  audience 
to  foreigners  and  strangers,  who,  according  to  the  eti- 
quette of  the  imperial  court,  were  always  presented 
singly,  and  received  in  the  private  apartments.  There 
were  stated  days  on  which  the  poorest  and  meanest  of 
her  subjects  were  admitted,  almost  indiscriminately; 
and  so  entire  was  her  confidence  in  their  attachment 
and  her  own  popularity,  that  they  might  whisper  to 
her,  or  see  her  alone  if  they  required  it.  At  other 
times,  she  read  memorials,  or  dictated  letters  and  de- 
spatches, signed  papers,  &c.  At  noon,  her  dinner  was 
brought  in,  consisting  of  a  few  dishes,  served  with  sim- 
plicity ;  after  the  death  of  her  husband  she  usually 
dined  alone,  like  Napoleon,  to  economize  time.  After 
dinner,  she  was  engaged  in  public  business  until  six  ; 
after  that  hour,  her  daughters  were  admitted  to  join 
her  in  evening  prayer :  if  they  absented  themselves, 
she  sent  to  know  if  they  were  indisposed  ;  if  not,  they 


202  MARIA   THERKSA. 


were  certain  of  meeting  with  a  reprimand  on  the  fol- 
lowing day.  At  half-past  eight  or  nine  she  retired  to 
rest.  When  she  held  a  drawing-room  or  an  evening 
circle,  she  remained  till  ten  or  eleven,  and  sometimes 
played  at  cards.  Before  the  death  of  her  husband,  she 
was  often  present  at  the  masked  balls,  or  ridotias^  which 
were  given  at  cour^  during  the  carnival ;  afterward, 
these  entertainments  and  the  number  of  fetes,  or  gala- 
days,  were  gradually  diminished  in  number.  On  the 
first  day  of  the  year,  and  on  her  birth-day,  she  held  a 
public  court,  at  which  all  the  nobility,  and  civil  and 
military  officers,  who  did  not  obtain  access  at  other 
times,  crowded  to  kiss  her  hand.  She  continued  this 
custom  as  long  as  she  could  support  herself  in  a  chair. 
Great  part  of  the  summer  and  autumn  were  spent  at 
Schonbrunn,  or  at  Lachsenburg.  In  the  gardens  of 
the  former  palace  there  was  a  little  shaded  alley,  com- 
municating with  her  apartments.  Here,  in  the  sum- 
mer days,  she  was  accustomed  to  walk  up  aiid  down, 
or  sit  for  hours  together :  a  box  was  buckled  round 
her  waist,  filled  with  papers  and  memorials,  which  she 
read  carefiilly,  noting  with  her  pencil  the  necessary  an- 
swers or  observations  to  each.  It  was  the  fault,  or 
rather  the  mistake  of  Maria  Theresa  to  give  up  too 
much  time  to  the  petty  details  of  business ;  in  her  gov- 
ernment, as  in  her  religion,  she  sometimes  mistook  the 
form  for  the  spirit,  and  her  personal  superintendence 
became  more  like  the  vigilance  of  an  inspector-general, 
than  the  enlightened  jurisdiction  of  a  sovereign."  Her 
nature,  in  short,  was  one  of  those  endowed  with  an  in- 
oorn   perpetual   motion   and  uninterrupted   indii«?try 


MAKIA   THERESA. 


203 


What  she  lacked  in  genius,  was  made  up  by  careful- 
ness  and  persistence. 

Francis  does  not  appear  to  have  participated  much 
in  his  wife's  enterprises.  He  might  have  felt  a  humble 
consciousness  of  his  inferiority  to  her  in  governmental 
capacity,  but,  more  likely,  the  long  delay  in  his  re- 
ceiving the  imperial  crown,  and  his  taste  for  quiet  pur- 
suits nnd  pleasures,  had  confirmed  him  in  habits  averse 
to  public  business.  The  love,  also,  which  he  and  Ma- 
ria Theresa  had  entertained  for  each  other  from  infancy, 
had  made  it  a  second  nature  for  each  to  yield  to  the 
other,  without  so  much  as  thinking  which  used  the 
greater  authority  or  influence  in  their  united  decisions 
— without  knowing  whether,  in  domestic  matters,  one 
or  both  or  neither  ruled.  With  a  mutually  respectful 
and  cordial  affection,  such  a  question  never  arises,  and 
is  impossible ;  a  oneness  of  choice  is  always  realized, 
without  dispute.  A  tender  love  is  the  harmonizer  of 
opposite  natures  and  wishes,  the  solvent  of  difficulties  ; 
if  carefully  fed  with  the  oil  of  kindness,  and  guarded 
against  all  the  winds  of  passion,  it  is  a  clear  flame  that 
fuses  the  most  stubborn  and  diverse  characters  into  a 
flowing  union  that  "  runs  smoothly,"  and  is  at  length 
fjast  in  one  mould.  The  instance  of  Maria  Theresa  and 
her  husband  is  remarkable.  Never  were  there  more 
or  greater  proofs  of  a  happy  companionship  than  theirs, 
notwithstanding  lier  superior  position  in  affairs  of  state 
and  his  infidelity  to  marriage  vows,  which  was  well 
known  to  her.  Their  long  and  deep-rooted  regard 
apparently  led  a  spirited,  intelligent  emperor  to  sur- 
i<lcr  all  political  power  to  his  wife,  while  the  virtu 


I'lM 


ti04  MARIA   THERES^ 


ous,  resolute  empress  calmly  allowed  her  husband  to 
indulge  his  licentious  propensities  as  he  pleased,  pro- 
vided his  purer  devotion  were  still  hers.  There  could 
be  no  more  extreme  and  hazardous  tests  of  their  mu- 
tual sympathy.  It  effected  such  a  strange  compromise 
of  choice  and  exchange  of  privilege,  as  almost  to  dis- 
prove its  own  existence  on  the  part  of  both  these  per- 
sons, especially  on  the  part  of  Francis.  Indeed,  this 
solution  of  the  wonder  would  be  inadmissible,  were 
it  not  that  those  who  wear  crowns  seem  to  regard  the 
most  iniquitous  liberties  as  innocent  in  themselves. 

The  emperor  had  some  share  in  public  acts,  and 
might  have  taken  the  direction  of  affairs  from  one  who 
exhibited  undying  constancy  to  him.  He  was  asso- 
ciated with  the  skillful  Kevenhuller,  in  leading  several 
of  the  Austrian  campaigns.  But,  for  the  most  part,  he 
kept  himself  in  the  background.  At  a  grand  lev^e, 
when  the  empress-queen  was  receiving  a  crowd  that 
came  to  pay  respect,  he  slipped  away  from  her  pres- 
ence to  a  remote  corner  of  the  room.  Two  ladies  rose 
in  reverence,  as  he  approached;  but  he  said,  "Do  not 
mind  me ;  I  shall  stay  here  till  the  court  is  gone,  and 
then  amuse  myself  with  looking  at  the  crowd."  One 
of  the  ladies  replied,  "  As  long  as  your  imperial  ma- 
jesty is  present,  the  court  will  be  here."  "  You  mis- 
take," replied  he  ;  "the  empress  and  my  children  are 
the  court ;  I  am  here  but  as  a  simple  individual."  In 
the  latter  part  of  his  life  he  had  an  intrigue  with  the 
Princess  of  Auersberg,  and  squandered  a  great  amount 
of  money  and  jewels  on  this  fascinating  woman;  but 
the  empress  treated  the  princess  with  careful  politeness, 


MAKIA  THERESA.  205 


and  never  manifested  to  any  one  her  knowledge  of  the 
commonly  reported  affair  of  Francis.  Much  of  his 
time  was  given  to  masks,  balls,  festivities,  and  the 
opera;  through  his  influence,  Vienna  became  a  city  of 
great  gayety  and  splendor.  Much  of  his  attention  was 
shared  by  his  family ;  to  his  children  he  was  kind  and 
generous,  and  they  regarded  him  with  enthusiastic 
affection.  He  found  time,  also,  amidst  all  his  duties 
and  recreations,  to  cultivate  a  love  for  the  fine  arts,  fur 
natural  history,  and  chemistry  in  particular.  This 
branch  of  science  then  included  the  wild  belief  in  al- 
chemy. Francis  spent  no  little  time  and  money  in 
the  pursuit  of  the  philosopher's  stone,  and  in  attempts 
to  fuse  many  small  diamonds  into  a  large  one,  not 
knowing  that  this  jewel  is  combustible ;  and  any  per- 
sons, devoted  to  these  schemes,  were  provided  with 
materials  at  public  expense.  But  the  spendthrift  dis- 
position of  the  emperor  was  also  turned  to  good  ac- 
count ;  his  charities  were  on  as  liberal  a  scale  as  his 
luxuries  and  scientific  attempts. 

While  her  thoughtless  and  handsome  husband  was 
busy  with  his  flirtation,  music  and  alchemy,  Maria 
Theresa  was  engaged  in  carrying  on,  or  preparing  for, 
wars  of  defence  and  conquest.  After  eight  years  of 
compulsory  peace,  subsequent  to  the  treaty  of  Aix-la- 
Chapelle,  which  had  terminated  eight  years  of  war, 
she  took  a  step  which  resulted  in  "  the  seven  years' 
war,"  wherein  France,  Russia,  Sweden,  Denmark,  and 
Spain  were  united  with  her  against  her  old  enemy. 
Frederic  of  Prussia,  who  was  saved  from  annihilation 
only  by  the  great  aid  of  England,  and  his  own  great 


206  MARIA  THERESA. 


genius.  Before  the  campaigns  of  Napoleon,  this  war 
was  the  wonderful  one  of  modern  history,  in  view  of 
its  display  of  skill  and  courage,  its  dreadful  waste  of 
blood,  and  its  surprising  victories.  Maria  Theresa's 
long-cherished  enmity  to  the  Prussian  king,  was  the 
cause  of  it.  _  Though  worshipped  by  her  people,  abun- 
dantly blessed  in  all  the  relations  of  life,  and  naturally 
of  a  humane  mind,  she  could  not  forget  the  loss  of  Si- 
lesia, the  guilt  of  Frederic  as  her  first  foe,  and  the  bit- 
ter jests  he  had  more  recently  uttered  cencerning  her- 
self and  her  husband's  character.  His  insulting  lan- 
guage, which  came  to  her  ears,  kindled  to  a  flame  the 
suppressed  fires  of  her  former  mortification,  to  which 
every  thought  of  her  lost  province,  everything  that  re- 
minded her  of  it,  had  added  fresh  fuel,  for  eight  years. 
There  was  no  way  to  gratify  this  revenge,  except  by 
an  alliance  with  France,  and  thus  an  ungrateful  rupture 
with  England,  her  old  and  valuable  friend.  Three 
hundred  years  of  implacable  hatred  between  Austria 
and  France  were  forgotten ;  the  faithless  deception  and 
fierce  efforts  of  France  towards  herself,  were  over- 
looked ;  the  danger  of  alienating  all  her  allies,  by  the 
junction  of  two  great  powers,  was  risked.  There  was 
no  other  way  to  crush  Frederic,  but  by  clasping  hands 
with  perfidious  France.  And  there  was  no  way  to  do 
this,  except  by  stooping  to  flatter  Madame  de  Pompa- 
dour, the  influential,  but  low-born  and  shameless  mis- 
tress of  Louis  XV.  Kaunitz,  the  now  confidential  and 
able  adviser  of  the  empress,  apologized  for  suggesting 
this  expedient;  but  she — the  daughter  of  a  hundred 
kings — virtuous,  devout  and  proud-   "*  once  wrote  to 


MARIA  THERESA.  207 


Pompadour,  calliug  her  "  My  dear  friend  and  cousin." 
The  artifice  succeeded.  France  was  soon  hand  in  glove 
with  Austria. 

The  emperor,  as  soon  as  the  treaty  was  made  known 
to  him  iu  the  council  at  Vienna,  struck  the  table  with 
his  hand,  declared  he  would  never  consent  to  it,  and 
walked  away.  His  eldest  daughter,  Marianne,  and 
his  eldest  son,  Joseph,  also  protested  with  vehemence. 
But  Maria  Theresa  soon  won  over  her  family  to  her 
schemes  ;  and  when  England,  astonished  at  the  incredi- 
ble news,  remonstrated,  she  stained  her  pure  name  with 
a  falsehood,  declaring  that  the  treaty  had  not  yet  been 
signed.  Little  did  she  foresee,  when  she  thus  abused 
the  long-tried  friendship  of  England,  resorted  to  de- 
grading artfulness  and  let  loose  the  hounds  of  a  gen- 
eral, protracted  and  bloody  war, — little  did  she  foresee 
the  retribution  that  followed,  especially  the  deplorable 
end  of  her  own  fair  daughter,  Marie  Antoinette,  who, 
in  consequence  of  this  same  alliance,  afterwards  be- 
came a  queen  of  France. 

The  leaders  of  the  Austrian  armies,  were  Marshal 
Daun,  a  Bohemian  ;  Marshal  Loudon,  a  Scot ;  and  Mar- 
shal Lacy,  of  Irish  descent.  Francis  was  intrepid  even 
to  rashness;  this  fact,  together  with  his  moderate  talents, 
and  her  fear  of  the  confusion  that  might  follow  his  death, 
may  have  induced  the  empress  to  dissuade  him  from  tak- 
ing any  command  in  the  ensuing  contests,  in  the  course 
of  whicb  Silesia  was  regained  and  once  more  lost,  and  tne 
vicissitudes  of  success  so  great  that  at  one  time  Vienna 
was  nearly  overwhelmed,  at  another  the  Prussian  sov- 
ereign diiven  from  his  capital.     One  of  the  chief  vie- 


208  MARIA  THERESA. 


tories,  ou  the  Austrian  side,  was  that  of  Kolin,  June 
18th,  1757,  by  which  the  empire  was  saved  from  alarm 
ing  danger.  In  gratitude  for  this  deliverance,  and  in 
celebration  of  this  triumph,  the  soldiers  were  generous- 
ly rewarded,  medals  were  struck,  Te  Deums  chanted, 
and  the  "  Order  of  Maria  Theresa"  founded,  as  a  mark 
of  honor  to  the  officers  who  had  distinguished  them- 
selves. Nor  was  the  empress  less  magnanimous  to 
bravery  when  unaccompanied  by  success.  At  Torgau, 
the  same  Marshal  Daun,  conqueror  at  Kolin,  was  de- 
feated in  a  critical  battle,  after  heroically  sustaining  it ; 
and  the  empress  showed  him  unprecedented  regard  by 
going  forth  to  meet  him  on  his  return  to  Vienna,  and 
addressing  him  in  words  of  kind  encouragement. 
Though  many  thousands  fell  in  many  battles,  to  ap- 
pease her  ambition  or  resentment,  she  was  still  a  noble 
and  sympathizing  woman,  whenever  adversity  appealed 
to  her  better  feelings.  And  in  this  she  was  unlike  the 
insensible  Frederic,  who  refused  to  ransom  or  exchange 
one  of  his  princely  subjects,  when  taken  prisoner,  or 
even  to  notice  his  letters;  Maria  Theresa,  however, 
liberated  him,  without  ransom,  when  he  tried  to  redeem 
himself. 

After  seven  years'  war,  Frederic,  contending  almost 
single-handed  against  the  three  greatest  powers  of  the 
continent,  and  many  of  the  smaller  ones,  was  nearly 
exhausted  and  overthrown.  Such  was  his  despair,  that 
he  carried  poison  with  him,  determined  to  die  rather 
than  be  taken  prisoner.  He  who  had  despised  all 
women,  and  abused  his  wife  and  sisters,  was  almost 
crushed  at  last  by  the  retaliation  of  two  women,  the 


MARIA  THERESA.  209 


Sovereign  of  Austria,  and  Elizabeth,  Empress  of  Russia. 
Against  the  latter,  as  against  the  former,  he  had  spoken 
sarcastically,  though  too  justly ;  "  she  retorted  with  an 
army  of  fifty  thousand  men."  The  two  empresses  were 
his  mightiest  foes,  and  were  just  at  the  point  of  final 
triumph,  when  Peter  the  Third,  an  enthusiastic  ad- 
mirer of  Frederic,  succeeded  to  the  Russian  sceptre, 
by  the  death  of  Elizabeth,  and  took  the  part  of  Prussia. 
This  event  put  the  contest  on  a  more  equal  footing 
again.  But  all  concerned  were  tired  of  so  protracted 
bloodshed,  and  pf  melting  even  jewels  and  church- 
plate  into  money.  An  Austrian  prisoner  assured  Fred- 
eric that  his  queen  would  consent  to  terms.  The  king 
seized  a  half-sheet  of  paper,  wrote  ten  lines  of  proposed 
treaty,  and  despatched  it  to  "Vienna,  requiring  an  im- 
mediate reply.  Maria  Theresa  accepted  it  at  once.  By 
this  treaty,  all  things  were  to  be  as  at  the  commence- 
ment of  the  war.  Five  hundred  thousand  men  had 
been  slain,  Bohemia  and  Saxony  laid  waste,  Prussia 
left  with  hardly  a  man,  and  all  Europe  kept  in  seven 
years'  alarm,  in  order  that  two  or  three  crowned  heads 
might  settle  their  personal  grievances.  ISTor  were  the 
devastations  of  the  sword  and  torch  confined  to  Europe. 
England  and  France  carried  their  part  of  the  quarrel 
wherever  the  possessions  of  each  came  into  contact. 
France  lost  the  most  of  her  ground  in  America  and  the 
East  and  West  Indies,  together  with  the  best  part  of 
her  armies,  commerce  and  treasure ;  and  all  these  dis- 
asters hastened  the  Reign  of  Terror,  wherein  Marie 
Antoinette  lost  her  head. 

The  treaty  of  general  peace  was   signed  in   1768. 
14 


2]"  MAKIA   THEKESA. 


Two  years  afterward,  the  imperial  court  journeyed  to  In- 
spruck,  to  attend  the  marriage  of  Maria  Theresa's  second 
son,  the  Archduke  Leopold  with  the  infanta  of  Spain. 
Leopold,  succeeded  to  his  father's  duchy  of  Tuscany, 
and,  being  a  man  of  strong  mind  and  good  heart,  con- 
iributed  greatly  to  the  reform  and  prosperity  of  his 
state.  While  at  Inspruck,  his  father,  the  Emperor 
Francis,  died.  Already  ill,  and  with  some  premoni- 
tion of  his  danger,  he  took  leave  of  his  children  who 
remained  at  Vienna ;  Marie  Antoinette,  then  ten  years 
old,  was  his  favorite  child,  and  he  kissed  and  pressed 
her  to  his  heart  a  second  time.  At  Inspruck,  his  wife 
was  alarmed  at  his  symptoms,  and  urged  him  to  be 
bled.  But  he  replied,  in  sad  jest,  "  Do  you  wish  to 
kill  lue  with  bleeding  ?"  Ho  was  again  entreated  on 
Sunday,  August  18th,  to  try  the  remedy,  and  said,  "  I 
must  go  to  the  opera,  and  I  am  engaged  afterward  to 
sup  with  Joseph," — though  it  is  affirmed  that  he  was 
really  to  sup  with  his  paramour,  the  Princess  of 
Auersburg.  But,  as  he  left  the  opera,  he  fell  dead 
with  apoplexy.  Maria  Theresa  was  inconsolable,  and 
the  more  so,  doubtless,  on  account  of  her  conviction 
that  he  was  unprepared  to  die.  She  wrote  the  next 
day,  to  her  family,  in  these  words :  "  Alas,  my  dear 
daughters,  I  am  unable  to  comfort  you  !  Our  calamity 
is  at  its  height ;  you  have  lost  a  most  incomparable 
father,  and  I  a  consort — a  friend — my  heart's  joy  for 
forty-two  years  past!  Having  been  brought  up  to- 
gether, our  hearts  and  our  sentiments  were  united  in 
the  same  views.  All  the  misfortunes  I  have  suffered 
daring  the  last  twenty-five  years  were  softened  by  his 


MAKIA  THERESA.  211 


support.  I  am  suffering  such  deep  affliction,  that 
nothing  but  true  piety  and  you,  my  dear  children,  can 
make  me  tolerate  a  life  which,  during  its  continuance, 
shall  be  spent  in  acts  of  devotion." 

She  could  not  bear  the  scene  of  her  affliction,  and 
sailed  immediately  for  her  capital,  accompanied  only 
by  her  son,  an  officer,  and  a  lady  attendant.  Francis 
was  buried  at  Vienna,  in  a  family-vault,  constructed 
under  the  Capuchin  church,  by  the  order  of  Maria, 
when  she  was  but  twenty -six  years  of  age.  At  every 
anniversary  of  her  husband's  death,  during  the  fifteen 
years  that  she  survived  him,  she  visited  his  tomb,  and 
engaged  in  devotions.  Through  all  those  years,  also, 
she  wore  mourning,  inhabited  plainly-furnished  rooms, 
draped  with  black  cloth,  and,  shunning  scenes  of 
gayety,  confined  herself  to  state  business  and  religious 
observances.  At  the  next  court  occasion,  after  the 
emperor's  death,  she  directed  all  the  ladies  to  appear 
in  mourning.  This  order  was  complied  with,  except 
by  the  Princess  of  Auersburg,  who  appeared  in  a  rich 
dress  and  highly  rouged.  The  empress  drew  back  her 
hand  in  surprise  and  contempt,  when  the  princess 
offered  to  kiss  it.  But,  though  the  frivolous  woman 
never  appeared  in  the  royal  presence  again,  Maria 
Theresa  treated  her  interests  with  the  same  scrupulous 
regard  that  she  had  shown  when  she  insisted  on  the 
payment  of  two  hundred  thousand  florins  to  the  prin- 
cess, according  to  an  order  on  the  public  treasury, 
written  by  Francis  the  day  before  his  death.  She  did 
not  take  the  course  of  conduct  prompted  by  virtuoiis 
indignation,  but,  from  first  to  last,  she  acted  with  a 


212  MARIA  THERESA. 


lofty  magnanimity.  In  this  world  of  petty  jealousies 
and  small  resentments,  too  much  admiration  cannot 
be  rendered  to  a  high-minded  independence.  Maria 
Theresa's  retaliations  were  on  a  great  scale — were 
either  grandly  national  or  nothing. 

It  is  wonderful  how  much  she  managed  to  accom- 
plish. She  was  the  mainspring  of  every  enterprise, 
and  attended  to  everything  personally ;  she  necessarily 
gave  much  time  to  the  thousand  forms  and  ceremonies 
of  her  station  ;  she  never  forgot  her  many  devotional 
tasks  ;  and  she  was  the  mother  of  sixteen  children,  in 
the  course  of  twenty  years.  These  children  were 
brought  up  to  simple  habits,  benevolent  acts,  a  profi- 
ciency in  music  and  Italian,  an  empty  knowledge  of  the 
lives  of  Eomish  saints,  and  an  overweening  famil}'^  pride. 
The  incongruous  results  of  such  an  education  were 
seen  in  their  after  lives;  many  great  or  good  deeds 
were  mingled  with  their  bigotry  and  their  excessive 
and  sometimes  fatal  devotion  to  family  interests. 

Nearly  all  her  sons  and  daughters,  who  grew  to  ma- 
turity, occupied  positions  of  importance.  The  eldest 
son,  Joseph,  succeeded  to  the  Germ':in  Empire,  and 
displayed  great  talents,  though  timid  and  taciturn  ir» 
childhood.  A  younger  son,  Charles,  died  at  the  age 
of  sixteen ;  he  was  bold  and  brilliant,  und  his  parent* 
treated  him  with  partiality,  mistakenly  regretting  that 
the  government  would  not  fall  to  him.  Joseph  first, 
married  the  Princess  of  Parma,  a  dark-eved  Italian  of 
remarkable  beauty ;  she  was  very  melancholy  and  cold 
to  all  persons,  from  the  hour  of  her  marriage;  it  is 
supposed  that  her  heart  had  been  given   away  pre- 


MARIA  THERESA.  213 


viously,  and  this  belief  has  been  embodied  in  a  story. 
She  died  soon,  and  Joseph  married  the  Princess  of  Bava- 
ria, who  was  as  homely  as  her  predecessor  was  charming, 
and  was  treated  with  cruel  neglect  by  all  her  husband's 
family,  except  the  Emperor  Francis,  at  whose  death 
she  exclaimed,  with  tears,  "  Ah,  miserable,  I  have  lost 
my  only  supporter."  Leopohl,  the  next  surviving  son, 
has  already  been  mentioned.  Ferdinand,  the  third  son, 
was  gentle  and  beneficent,  married  the  daughter  of  the 
Duke  of  Modena,  and  inherited  that  duchy.  Maxi- 
miliam,  the  youngest  son,  was  Elector  of  Cologne. 

The  daughters  were  all  gifted,  and  all  beautiful,  like 
their  mother,  excepting  the  eldest,  Marianna,  who  was 
deformed.  She  and  Elizabeth  were  never  married, 
and  lived  at  home  in  seclusion,  engaged  in  study, 
prayer,  or  deeds  of  benevolence.  Christiana  was  much 
like  the  empress,  who  was  very  partial  to  her;  hei 
talents^were  greater,  and  her  determined  attachment  to 
her  chosen  lover,  equal  to  her  mother's,  many  years 
before ;  it  is  said  to  have  hastened  the  peace  of  Hu- 
bertsberg.  "With  her  husband.  Prince  Albert  of  Sax- 
ony, she  governed  Hungary,  afterwards  the  Nether- 
lands, and  exercised  great  influence  with  her  sisters, 
the  Queens  of  France  and  Naples.  Amelia  was  sur- 
passingly bright  in  mind  and  person,  and  excelled  in 
amateur  dramatic  performances ;  she  married  the  Duke 
of  Parma,  and  occasioned  some  trouble  by  her  frivol- 
ity. Joanna,  af&anced  to  the  King  of  Naples,  died  of 
the  small-pox;  the  next  sister,  Josepha,  who  was  to 
take  her  place,  died  of  the  same  disease.  The  circum- 
stances were  very  aft'ecting:  she  was  fifteen,  lovely  and 


214  MAKIA  THERESA. 


tall,  with  a  clear  face  and  long  light  hair ;  she  was  pub- 
licly betrothed  and  treated  as  a  queen  already ;  but  she 
dreaded  her  destinj'-.  In  this  state  of  extreme  sensi* 
tiveness,  she  was  directed  by  her  mother  to  visit  her 
father's  tomb  and  pay  her  last  respect  to  his  memory. 
With  many  tears  she  consented,  but,  while  in  the  vault, 
was  seized  with  chills  and  faintness,  and  the  next  day 
was  attacked  with  the  small-pox,  from  which  she  died, 
to  the  great  grief  of  the  empress,  who  too  late  lamented 
her  imperious  treatment.  The  next  daughter,  Caroline, 
equally  intelligent  and  lovely,  finally  married  the  Nea- 
politan king,  whose  dulness  and  amiability  easily 
brought  him  under  the  entire  control  of  his  cunning 
wife,  and  her  more  cunning  and  famous  coadjutor,  Lady 
Hamilton.  Marie  Antoinette,  the  youngest  daughter, 
was  the  wife  and  fellow- victim  of  Louis  XVL  of  France. 
The  many  family  afflictions  of  Maria  Theresa,  calmly 
borne  during  all  her  arduous  reign,  enhance  her  heroic 
merits. 

Her  habits  of  devout  meditation  and  worship,  no 
less  than  her  strong  character,  enabled  her  to  do  and 
suffer  so  much.  Hers  was  a  most  exacting,  unnatural 
and  puerile  round  of  religious  ceremonies ;  she  spent 
the  entire  month  of  August  in  penance  and  prayer  for 
her  husband's  departed  soul ;  she  gave  five  hours  every 
day  to  the  same  monastic  occupations ;  but  the  spirit 
of  piety  may  live  under  any  forms,  however  cum- 
brous ;  and,  if  she  acted  according  to  her  best  knowl- 
edge, her  zeal  should  provoke  respect  and  admiration. 
Certainly,  if  faith  is  to  be  judged  by  its  fruits,  hers  had 
much  that  was  praiseworthy.     She  was  eminently  be- 


MARIA  THERESA.  215 


neficent,  and  deeply  affected  by  all  forms  of  woe. 
Meeting  some  half-famished  persons  in  Vienna,  she 
said,  "  What  have  I  done  that  Providence  should  af- 
flict my  eyes  with  such  a  sight  as  this?"  Her  charities 
"  amounted  to  more  than  eighty  thousand  a  year,"  says 
an  English  writer.  Her  virtue,  however,  at  length 
took  one  shape  that  was  more  odious  than  injurious. 
iVom  no  love  of  gossi]),  apparently,  but  with  the  idea 
that  her  vigilant  superintendence  and  reformatory 
power  should  be  almost  omniscient  and  omnipotent, 
in  her  kingdom,  she  exercised,  through  a  multitude  of 
spies,  a  despotic  surveillance  of  the  private  affairs  of 
families ;  and  any  lady,  of  any  rank,  who  overstepped 
a  chaste  decorum,  was  banished  to  the  limits  of  the 
realm. 

Throughout  her  dominions,  she  instituted  or  im- 
proved academies,  schools,  observatories,  systems  of 
prizes,  regulations  for  the  encouragement  of  agricul- 
ture ;  she  founded  a  hospital  for  small-pox,  and  pro- 
moted inoculation,  for  the  want  of  which  she  herself 
suffered  great  disfigurement  of  her  beauty,  which  was 
finally  obliterated  by  her  obesity  and  by  an  accident 
which  mangled  her  face.  She  suppressed  the  Inquisi- 
tion and  the  society  of  Jesuits,  interdicted  many  of  the 
useless  saint's  days,  and  opened  the  royal  parks  to  com- 
mon use  as  a  public  promenade,  now  known  as  the 
Prater — a  masrnificent  feature  of  Vienna.  But  her 
censorship  of  the  press  and  prohibition  of  French  and 
English  literature,  was,  to  a  great  extent,  very  bigoted 
and  oppressive.  A  book  was  condemned,  if,  in  it,  "a 
doubt  was  thrown  upon  the  sanctity  of  some  hermit  or 


216  MARIA  THERESA. 


monk  of  tlie  middle  ages,  or  if  it  attacked  superstition, 
in  the  slightest  degree." 

The  partition  of  Poland,  in  1772,  is  the  greatest  blot 
that  rests  on  the  reign  of  Maria  Theresa.  But  her  own 
share  in  it  has  many  mitigating  considerations.  The 
dismemberment  was  first  resolved  upon  by  the  Prussian 
and  Russian  governments ;  and  Maria  Theresa  was  per- 
suaded by  her  son  Joseph,  already  clothed  with  powers 
equal  to  hers,  and  by  her  chief  counsellor,  Kaunitz,  to 
join  in  the  iniquitous  measure,  in  order  to  check  the 
ambition  of  her  old  rival,  Frederic.  Her  consent  shows 
how  a  spirit  of  policy  may  extinguish  the  liveliest  iwi- 
pulses  of  the  heart ;  for  she  acted  towards  Poland  as 
other  governments,  to  her  everlasting  indignation,  had 
designed  to  act  towards  her,  in  the  beginning  of  her 
reign ;  her  grandfather  and  his  dominions  had  been 
saved  from  the  Turks  by  the  bravery  of  the  Poles,  a 
century  before  ;  and  the  portraits  of  that  ancestor  and 
his  Polish  deliverer,  were  the  only  ones  that  graced  the 
room  she  daily  occupied. 

So  inconsistent  and  ungrateful  was  that  ambition 
which  further  persuaded  her  to  consent  to  another  war 
with  Prussia,  occasioned  by  a  revival  of  the  Austrian 
claim  to  Bohemia.  Yet  she  remonstrated  against  this 
step  with  tears,  sent  five  hundred  ducats  to  those  who 
suffered  by  the  ravages  of  her  army,  and  herself  wrote 
a  frank  letter  to  Frederic  that  terminated  the  conflict. 
The  two  aged  enemies  now  exchanged  messages  of 
kindness,  and  the  question  was  settled  by  the  interven- 
tion of  Russia,  at  Maria  Theresa's  earnest  solicitation 
She  wept  for  joy  at  this,  and  said,  "  I  am  overpowered 


MARIA  THERESA.  217 


with  joy !  I  do  not  love  Frederic,  but  I  must  do  him 
the  justice  to  confess  that  he  has  acted  nobly  and  hon- 
orably. I  am  inexpressibly  happy  to  spare  the  effasion 
of  so  much  blood  !" 

These  were  among  the  last  acts  of  her  life.  She  had 
inelt  in  prayer  that  God  would  avert  that  war,  while 
her  armies,  led  by  her  son,  were  passing  forth,  before 
her  windows,  with  music  and  flying  banners.  Now 
she  publicly  returned  thanks,  in  the  church  of  the 
Capuchins,  for  the  success  of  her  prayers.  It  was  a  fit 
prelude  for  her  approaching  and  serene,  though  painful 
death.  She  is  described,  at  this  period,  "  as  an  old 
lady,  immensely  corpulent,  habited  in  the  deepest 
weeds,  with  her  gray  hair  slightly  powdered,  and  turned 
back  under  a  cap  of  black  crape.  Notwithstanding 
her  many  infirmities,  her  deportment  was  still  digni- 
fied, her  manner  graceful  as  well  as  gracious,  and  her 
countenance  benign.  The  disorder  from  which  she 
suffered  was  a  dropsy,  accompanied  by  an  induration 
of  the  lungs,  which  brought  on  fits  of  suffocation,  and  at 
length  terminated  her  existence."  Such,  in  hei  last  days, 
was  the  woman  who,  in  the  flush  of  beauty  and  vigor 
of  youth,  had  roused  the  wild  admiration  of  the  Hunga- 
rians, and  so  played  upon  the  strings  of  those  noble  hearts 
that  the  music  of  a  thousand  sabres  rattling  in  their 
scabbards,  rang  through  the  royal  halls  of  Presburg. 

The  distresses  of  her  sickness  were  intolerable,  yet 
she  endured  them  with  fortitude  and  patience.  Once 
she  said,  "God  grant  that  these  sufferings  may  soon 
terminate,  for  otherwise  I  know  not  if  I  can  much 
longer  endure  them."     She  entreated  her  son  not  to 


218  MARIA  THERESA. 


weep  in  her  presence,  lest  sympathy  for  him  would 
take  away  her  firmness.  To  his  care  she  affectionately 
bequeathed  her  children,  as  all  of  hers  that  did  not  al- 
ready of  right  belong  to  him,  her  successor.  Until  the 
evening  before  her  death,  she  was  busy  signing  papers, 
and  giving  him  parting  advice.  When  he  exhorted 
her  to  take  repose,  she  replied,  "  In  a  few  hours  I  shall 
appear  before  the  judgment-seat  of  God,  and  would 
you  have  me  sleep?'"'  Remembering  her  plans  of 
charity,  her  words  were,  "  If  I  could  wish  for  immor- 
tality on  earth,  it  would  only  be  for  the  power  of  re- 
lieving the  distressed."  Just  before  her  last  breath, 
some  one  whispered,  "  The  empress  sleeps."  She  open- 
ed her  eyes  and  said,  "  I  do  not  sleep  ;  I  wish  to  meet 
my  death  awake" — heroic  and  memorable  words !  Her 
whole  people,  as  well  as  family,  were  plunged  into  sor- 
row by  her  death,  and,  for  many  years,  her  subjects 
often  spoke  of  their  "mother,"  as  they  affectionately 
termed  one  who  had  tenderly  cared  for  their  comfort, 
up  to  the  day  of  her  death,  Nov.  29th,  1780.  She  lived 
to  the  age  of  sixty-three  years,  six  months,  and  reigned 
forty  years. 

Her  career  has  but  one  rival  in  splendor,  in  the  his- 
tory of  crowned  women.  Its  glory  is  dimmed  only  by 
the  bloodthirst  and  intolerance  of  her  period,  and  of 
ler  family,  indeed,  down  to  this  hour.  Never  was 
more  accomplished  by  the  life  of  any  female,  whether 
for  good  or  evil.  In  a  private  sphere,  she  would  have 
left  an  example  worthy  of  imitation  in  all  respects. 
As  a  queen  in  a  freer  and  enlightened  land,  not  a  breath 
would  have  sullied  the  glorious  mirror  of  her  character. 


JOSEPHINE. 


'r'J^/i'/Li^^^^'t^i^' 


HoiSiBpliiti?. 


"A  truer,  nobler,  trustier  heart, 
More  loving  or  more  loyal,  never  beat 
Within  a  human  breast." — Byeon. 

The  island  of  Martinique  claims  the  distinction  of 
being  the  birth-place  of  Josephine,  who  was  born  the 
24th  day  of  June,  1763.  Her  father,  M.  de  Tascher, 
waa  a  man  of  influence  and  moderate  wealth,  possess- 
ing a  large  plantation  and  an  ample  retinue  of  slaves. 
He  was  a  man  of  ambition  and  unyielding  sternness, 
and  to  this,  in  a  great  measure,  was  owing  the  misfor- 
tunes which  embittered  Josephine's  early  life,  and 
threw  her  into  the  whirl  of  events  that  bore  her  on  to 
greatness  and  suffering. 

Her  childhood  was  spent  in  lively  sports  and  amuse- 
ments, attended  by  young  negresses  who  were  permit- 
ted to  indulge  her  every  whim,  and  accustomed  to  obey 
instantly  the  most  childish  requirements,  till,  by  un- 
limited indulgence,  her  naturally  sAveet  disposition  was 
in  danger  of  being  spoiled. 

Fortunately,  Madam  de  Tnscher  was  wise  enough  to 
see  this,  and  brought  Josephine  more  within  her  owe 


222  JOSEPHINJ^. 


maternal  influence,  allowing  her  a  larger  share  of  the 
affection  which  had  been  almost  exclusively  bestowed 
upon  the  elder,  more  beautiful,  and  only  sister — Maria. 
The  latter,  like  her  mother,  was  of  sedentary  habits 
md  a  mild,  unimpassioned  temperament ;  thus  they  had 
more  sympathies  in  common,  while  Josephine  was  all 
vivacity  and  enthusiasm.  She  was  a  favorite  with  her 
father,  and  from  him  came  all  the  instruction  she  re- 
ceived, till,  on  reaching  her  twelfth  year,  she  was 
placed  under  the  superintendence  of  Maria's  teacher, 
who  gave  her  lessons  in  the  form  of  amusements. 

Her  sociability  and  excessive  fondness  for  dancing, 
led  Madam  de  Tascher  often  to  give  fetes,  at  which  the 
young  Creoles  of  the  island  were  assembled ;  but  the 
sombre  Maria  rarely  participated  in  these  festivities, 
much  preferring  to  pursue  her  studies,  or  to  ramble 
alone.  She  was  busily  occupied  in  cultivating  such 
talenis  as  she  possessed,  and  acquiring  those  accom- 
plishments deemed  necessary  to  a  woman  of  the  world, 
in  anticipation  of  a  future  home  in  France,  where  an 
aunt,  in  influential  circumstances,  had  offered  to  provide 
her  with  an  establishment,  and  designed  her  hand  for 
the  son  of  the  Marquis  de  Beauharnois. 

Josephine,  on  the  contrary,  looked  upon  the  island 
of  Martinique  as  her  continued  home.  When  she 
gazed  over  the  ocean  that  separated  her  from  the  rest 
of  the  world,  it  created  no  longings  to  mingle  in  the 
dissipation  and  reckless  folly  that  her  mother  described 
to  her  as  pervading  la  belle  France.,  but  the  sight  in- 
spired in  her  a  strong  love  of  grandeur  and  sublimity, 
and  increased  her  already  lively  imagination. 


JOSEPHINE.  223 


But  there  was  a  spell  that  bound  her  heart  to  Mar- 
tinique, which  gave  her  contentment  in  its  quiet  re- 
treats, or  otherwise  her  active,  restless  spirit  must  have 
sought  a  wider  world. 

Through  all  her  childhood,  Josephine  had  shared 
her  amusements  with  William  de  K  .  .  .,  the  son  of 
i'.nglish  parents  who  had  sought  refuge  in  Martinique 
after  the  fall  of  the  House  of  Stuart,  whose  cause  they 
espoused,  and  therefore  suffered  proscription.  The 
two  children  had  grown  up  together  in  happy  compan- 
ionship, and  formed  an  attachment  that  was  never  ef- 
faced. When  Josephine  reached  her  twelfth  year,  she 
had  made  so  little  progress  in  her  studies,  though  au 
apt  scholar,  that  Madam  de  Tascher  decided  to  send 
her  to  France  and  place  her  in  a  convent,  till  the  com- 
pletion of  her  education.  But  this  was  a  terrible  stroke 
to  the  young  lovers,  to  whom  separation  v/ould  have 
been  the  greatest  grief.  By  the  most  earnest  assurances 
from  Josephine  of  her  future  application,  she  was  permit- 
ted to  remain  on  trial.  Daring  the  following  six  months, 
she  made  such  rapid  progress  as  persuaded  her  mother  to 
recall  her  threat  of  sending  her  from  Martinique  ;  and 
she  not  only  allowed  her  to  continue  her  studies  with 
William  de  K  .  .  .,  under  the  same  master,  but,  through 
the  interposition  of  his  mother,  Josephine's  hand  was 
promised  him  conditionally.  Thus  they  happily  and 
lovingly  remained  together,  studying,  or  rambling  for 
shells  along  the  sea-shore,  carving  their  united  names 
upon  the  trees,  or  gathering  the  beautiful  blossoms  of 
the  amaryllis  gigantea,  a  plant  which  she  so  admired 
for  its  associations  as  well  as  its  beauty,  that  she  after- 


224  JOSEPHINE. 


wards  caused  it  to  be  transplanted,  to  the  garden  of 

Malmaison,  where  it  still  grows  luxuriantly. 

Not  long  after  M.  de  K  .  .  .  was  called  to  England 
and  was  accompanied  by  his  son,  with  the  avowed  pur- 
pose of  pursuing  his  studies  at  Oxford ;  but,  unknown 
^to  himself  or  Josephine,  the  real  object  of  the  voyage 
was  to  assert  heirship  to  an  estate  which  M.  de  K  .  .  . 
was  to  inherit  on  condition  his  son  should  marry  the 
niece  of  the  testator.  The  months  of  silence  that  en- 
sued, were  so  full  of  anxiety  on  Josephine's  part,  that 
her  health  was  evidently  suffering  from  it.  No  letter 
nor  message  came  from  the  young  Creole,  who  had  seem- 
ingly forgotten  her  in  the  new  interests  of  the  great 
world,  yet  she  would  not  believe  the  representations  of 
her  friends  that  he  had  ceased  to  love  her. 

To  console  and  divert  her,  Madam  de  Tascher  gath- 
ered young  companions  in  their  pleasant  home,  and 
endeavored  to  occupy  her  mind  by  an  interest  in  the 
study  of  languages  and  accomplishing  herself  upon  the 
harp.  She  possessed  a  sweet,  plaintive  voice,  and  that 
kind  of  talent  which  readily  acquires  anything  placed 
within  its  reach,  with  little  application.  She  chiefly 
enjoyed  quiet  walks  with  Mademoiselle  de  K  .  .  .,  when 
they  would  lounge  under  the  shade  of  romantic  cedars, 
talking  for  hours  of  William,  or  throAV  stones  at  tree- 
marks,  to  ascertain  by  the  stroke  if  her  lover  was  faith- 
less. But  this  friendship  was  of  short  duration,  for 
Mademoiselle  de  K  .  .  .  deceived  her  ;  Josephine's  true, 
transparent  nature  had  afiinity  only  with  candor  and 
simplicity,  and  she  could  no  longer  endure  her  artful 
friend. 


JOSEPHINE.  226 


While  the  Pagerie  mansion  was  gay  with  the  youns^ 
Creole  girls,  gathered  to  amuse  Josephine,  a  new  ex- 
citement, one  day  aroused  them  from  a  languiil  siesta 
and  inspired  them  with  all  the  vivacity  which  so  es 
pecially  belongs  to  the  French.  The  fortune-telling 
fame  of  an  old  Irish  woman,  or  as  some  have  it,  a  ue- 
gress,  called  Euphemia,  who  lived  in  a  sequestered  and 
wild  retreat  named  the  "  Three  Islets,"  reached  their 
ready  ear;  curious  to  lift  the  veil  of  futurity,  they  one 
and  all  decided  to  consult  the  oracle. 

Josephine  accompanied  her  companions  more  for 
their  pleasure  than  her  own  ;  not  quite  willing  to  be- 
lieve what  might  be  predicted,  but  with  a  secret  thought 
of  William,  she  followed  the  gay  party,  who,  with 
laughter  and  harmless  sallies  at  each  other's  expense 
hastened  to  the  dark,  rocky  glen,  where  the  fortune- 
teller's hut  was  half  hidden  among  a  wild  growth  uf 
large-leaved  plants  and  tall  trees.  Their  courage  be- 
gan to  fail,  however,  as  they  approached  the  dwelling ; 
but,  after  some  whispering  hesitation  as  to  who  should 
dare  to  enter  first,  they  summoned  boldness  enough  to 
make  their  errand  known.  The  old  woman  sat  upon 
a  cane  mat  in  the  centre  of  the  cabin,  and  perceiving 
the  shrinking  girls,  called  on  them  to  come  nearer. 
Each  successively  submitted  her  hand  for  inspection, 
and  to  all  were  predicted  extraordinary  adventures  and 
misfortunes.  Josephine  presented  hers  last,  though 
she  would  have  gone  away  unenlightened  but  for  the 
persuasions  of  her  companions.  The  lines  of  her  hand 
being  attentively  examined,  she  was  told,  "  You  wih 
soon  be  married,  but  not  to  the  one  you  love:  the 
15 


226  JOSEPHINE. 


union  will  not  be  happy :  your  husband  will  perish 
tragically.  You  will  then  marry  a  man  who  will  as- 
tonish the  world,  and  you  will  become  an  eminent 
woman  and  possess  a  superior  dignity." 

The  young  girls  returned  to  Madam  de  Tascher, 
lialf  frightened,  half  unbelieving  at  the  strange  desti- 
nies predicted;  but  Josephine  made  Hght  of  the  whole 
affair,  entirely  unwilling  to  have  faith  in  a  prophecy 
which,  if  fulfilled,  must  separate  her  from  William  de 
K  .  .  . 

Not  long  after,  the  sudden  death  of  Maria,  who  was 
in  the  midst  of  preparations  for  a  voyage  to  France, 
cast  a  deep  gloom  over  the  family,  which  had  hitlierto 
known  only  joy  and  gaiety.  The  mother  could  not  be 
consoled  at  the  loss  of  her  favorite  daughter  and  com- 
panion. Touched  by  her  mothei-'s  grief,  Josephine  de- 
termined to  imitate  her  sister  so  closely  as  in  a  manner 
to  fill  the  sad  vacancy,  which,  with  her  sensibility,  she 
felt  most  poignantly  herself.  At  once  the  child  became 
a  woman.  Her  amusements,  her  reckless  rambles,  her 
gay  companions,  were  all  rejected,  and  she  remained  at 
her  mother's  side  or  employed  her  hours  in  the  most 
studious  application  to  pursuits  hitherto  neglected. 
Her  efforts  and  rapid  progress  surprised  and  attracted 
Madam  de  Tascher,  and  henceforth  the  amiable  Jose- 
phine felt  herself  fally  repaid  for  her  exertions,  in  receiv- 
ing the  unlimited  affection  apd  approbation  of  both  her 
parents.  At  this  time,  the  arrival  of  a  package  from 
France  and  the  proposals  it  contained,  afflicted  her  with 
a  new  and  serious  anxiety.  The  wishes  ot  her  aunt  to 
receive  her  in  Maria's  place,  and  alao  to  bestow  her 


JOSEPHINE.  227 


hand  where  her  sister's  had  been  promised,  were  quick- 
ly made  known  to  her  by  her  father. 

"  You  promised  me  to  William  de  K  .  .  .,"  replied 
she  in  surprise  at  her  father's  tone  of  assent  to  the  ar- 
rangement. But  he  assured  her  that  was  no  barrier- 
as  William  was  obliged  to  marry  a  joint-heir  of  the  cs- 
tfite  fallen  to  him,  or  forfeit  the  bequeathmeut,  which 
his  father  would  not  permit.  "Besides,"  said  he, 
"  William  has  forgotten  you ;  you  should  cease  to 
think  of  one  who  has  so  neglected  you."  Knowing 
nothing  of  the  affectionate  and  overflowing  letters 
which  her  parents  retained  from  her,  she  was  persuad- 
ed to  consent  to  what  her  father  would  allow  no  refu- 
sal of;  and  after  many  tears,  regrets,  and  useless  en- 
treaties, she  separated  from  her  famil}'-,  her  quiet  home 
with  all  its  happy  associations,  and  left  the  wild  anci 
romantic  island  of  Martinique  for  a  home  in  a  land 
where  she  was  to  reach  a  position  and  acquire  a  fame, 
exceeding  the  wildest  dreams  of  ambition  her  father 
could  have  entertained  for  her. 

As  the  ship,  which  was  to  convey  her  to  France,  left 
port,  a  singular  phenomenon  attracted  the  attention  of 
all  on  board,  as  well  as  those  assembled  on  shore.  A 
phosphoric  flame,  known  to  mariners  as  St.  Elmo's  fire, 
attached  itself  to  the  mast-head  of  the  vessel,  throwing 
out  jets  of  light  and  encircling  the  ship  with  cnnvn 
like  rays.  Those  who  had  heard  the  prediction  in  re- 
spect to  Josephine,  looked  upon  it  with  superstitious 
awe  but  she  was  too  much  overcome  with  grief  to 
regard  it  in  any  light,  and  remained  unconsoled  during 
the  whole  voyage.     To  a  young  giil  scaicely  fifteen, 


228  JOSEPHINE. 


it  was  a  severe  trial  to  be  separated,  perhaps  forever, 
from  her  family,  and  more  especially  from  the  affec- 
tionate sympathy  of  an  amiable,  cultivated,  judicious 
mother. 

She  was  kindly  received  at  Marseilles  by  her  aunt, 
Madame  Renaudia,  with  whom  she  repaired  directly  to 
Fontainebleau.  Duiing  the  ensuing  mouth,  Josephine, 
could  not  overcome  the  depression  of  spirits,  fast  in- 
fringing upon  her  health,  and  not  lessened  by  her 
knowledge  of  the  presence  of  William  de  K  .  .  .  in 
Paris,  his  frequent  attempts  to  see  her,  and  the  discov- 
ery of  his  unchanged  affections.  To  see  him  would 
but  add  to  their  distress,  since  he  was  betrothed  to  an- 
other, and  the  negotiations  for  her  own  marriage  were 
in  progress ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  young  Vis- 
count Beauharnois  was  extremely  repugnant  to  the 
match.  Though  he  had  admired  the  picture  of  Maria, 
he  was  extremely  disappointed  in  Josephine,  and  at 
the  same  time  was  entirely  devoted  to  a  Madame  de 
V  .  .  .  .,  who  possessed  his  affections. 

Josephine,  bewildered  and  ill,  but  still  dutiful  to  the 
commands  of  her  parents,  permitted  her  aunt  and  the 
Marquis  de  Beauharnois  to  use  their  influence  with  the 
viscount ;  but  she  entreated  permission  to  retire  to  a 
convent,  on  the  plea  of  her  ill  health.  The  Abbey  de 
Panthemont  was  selected  by  Madame  Reuaudin.  Jo- 
sephine remained  there  nearly  a  year,  and,  at  the  ex- 
piration of  that  time,  became  the  wife  of  Alexandre  de 
Beauharnois. 

He  is  described  as  "  an  amiable,  accomplished  man, 
of  noble  and  dignified  bearing,  and  a  favorite  at  court, 


JOSEPHINE. 


229 


where  lie  obtained  the  soubriquet  of  the  'beau  danseur,' 
from  his  graceful  participation  in  the  festivities  of  Ver- 
sailles." He  highly  esteemed  Josephine,  but  his  un- 
abated attachment  for  Madame  de  V  .  .  .  .,  together 
•with  the  scandal  continually  poured  into  the  ears  of  his 
wife,  gave  rise  to  such  jealousy  on  her  part  as  to  de- 
stroy their  domestic  peace.  The  birth  of  her  son  Eu- 
gene, for  a  time  diverted  her,  but,  through  the  ma- 
liciousness of  her  rival,  Beauharnois  in  his  turn  became 
jealous  of  her  early  love;  annoyed  by  her  tears  and 
reproaches,  he  left  her,  on  plea  of  business,  to  remain 
;several  months  at  Versailles.  Josephine  then  withdrew 
entirely  from  the  gayety  in  which  her  new  position  had 
thrown  her.  Though  her  debut  at  court  had  been  a 
fluttering  one,  and  the  favors  shown  her  by  Marie  An- 
toinette were  suf&cient  to  give  eclat  to  her  presence, 
yet  she  gladly  escaped  from  the  vortex  of  pleasure  in 
which  the  giddy  French  were  continually  involved, 
and  retired  to  a  quiet  retreat  at  Croissy,  where  she  re- 
sumed her  long-neglected  studies,  successfully  culti- 
vating the  talents  that,  now  fully  awakened,  gave  a 
more  decided  tone  to  her  character.  She  was  grieved 
at  the  neglect  of  her  husband,  but  she  was  greatly  con- 
soled in  her  trials  by  the  birth  of  Hortense,  the  more 
welcome  since  she  was  deprived  of  the  society  and  care 
of  her  idolized  son,  whom  his  father  had  placed  at  a 
private  boarding-house. 

Hearing  from  Madame  Renaudin  of  Beauharnois' 
intentions  to  obtain  a  divorce,  she  retired  to  the  con- 
vent which  had  before  received  her,  determined  to  re 
main  till  the  suit  was  decided.     Confident  of  her  own 


280  JOSEPHINE. 


innocence,  and  sincerely  attached  to  the  man,  who  was 
strangely  blinded  to  her  faithful  affection  through  the 
misrepresentations  of  spies  upon  her  movements,  and 
overwhelmed  with  grief  at  the  turmoil  in  which  her 
sensitive  heart  was  continually  plunged,  she  shut  her- 
self within  the  gloomy  walls  of  the  Abbey  de  Panthe- 
mont,  submissively  enduring  and  performing  the  in- 
numerable penances  imposed  upon  her  by  the  abbess. 

Hortense  was  her  companion  in  this  grim,  sombre 
prison-house,  lessening  the  tediousness  of  the  long  mel- 
ancholy hours.  Two  weary  years  dragged  away  thus, 
serving  at  least  to  obliterate  every  trace  of  frivolity 
that  might  have  remained  from  her  light-hearted  girl- 
hood, and  giving  that  dignity  and  composure  to  her 
manner  which  are  the  impress  of  long-continued  grief 
It  also  enabled  her  to  cultivate,  though  unconsciously, 
a  fortitude  of  character  valuable  in  her  after  trials,  and 
so  chastened  her  spirit  as  to  inspire  her  with  ready 
sympathy  in  the  afflictions  of  others — a  trait  that  en- 
deared her  to  the  French  nation  when  she  wielded  the 
power  of  an  empress,  and  one  which  she  could  not 
have  possessed  to  so  keen  a  degree  but  for  her  own 
early  trials. 

As  soon  as  the  Parliament  at  Paris  had  decided  the 
suit  of  divorce  in  her  ftxvor,  she  determined  to  return 
to  Mtirtinique ;  but,  unable  to  prevail  upon  Beauhar- 
nois  to  allow  Eugene  to  accompany  her,  she  was 
obliged  to  embark  alone  with  Hortense.  Two  years 
of  quiet  home-life  in  her  native  island,  somewhat  re- 
stored the  natural  cheerfulness  of  her  temper,  yet  the 
remembrance  of  her  husband  and  son,  widely  separated 


JOSEPHINE. 


231 


from  her,  often  disturbed  the  otherwise  complete  rest 
under  her  father's  roof 

Another  interview  with  Euphemia  the  fortune-teller, 
confirmed  the  superstitious  belief  she  entertained  in  the 
destiny  that  awaited  her.  It  was  with  both  fear  and 
joj,  therefore,  that  she  again  left  Martinique  for  the 
scenes  which  henceforth  tended  towards  the  accom- 
plishment of  her  elevation. 

The  news  of  Beauharnois'  acknowledgment  of  his 
wife's  innocence  and  his  readiness  to  receive  her  again, 
reawakened  all  her  affection  and  had  induced  her  to 
seek  the  shores  of  France,  and  reunite  the  divided 
family.  They  met  at  Paris.  Hortense,  who  already 
gave  promise  of  much  beauty,  was  presented  to  her 
father  in  the  free,  graceful  dress  of  a  young  Creole. 
He  was  surprised  to  find  himself  possessed  of  so  lovely 
a  daughter,  while  Josephine  rejoiced  equally  in  meet- 
ing with  Eugene,  from  whom  she  had  long  so  been 
separated.  Several  months  of  peaceful  reconciliatior 
succeeded,  and  Josephine  was  at  last  happy. 

Beauharnois  had  at  this  time  attained  the  rank  of 
major  of  a  regiment  of  infantry ;  he  was  also  a  repre- 
sentative in  the  national  assembly,  and,  in  the  follow- 
ing year,  1791,  was  appointed  president  of  that  body. 
Josephine  listened  with  deep  interest  to  the  political 
discussions  now  carried  on  in  her  saloons,  which  were 
the  resort  of  the  most  prominent  members  of  the  as- 
sembly :  but  she  could  not  conceal  her  anxiety  as  to 
the  future  of  France,  and  the  fate  of  those  who,  she 
foresaw,  were  to  take  the  lead  in  the  rapidly-approach- 
ing struggle.      Beauharnois   preserved   a   mild,    firm 


2^2  JOSEPHINE. 


"bearing  througliont  the  storm  that  soon  burst  with 
frightful  havoc  upon  the  nation,  remaining  loyal  to  hia 
king,  whom  he  venerated  and  loved,  while  he  saw  and 
urged  the  necessity  of  the  monarch's  compliance  with 
the  demands  of  the  people.  "  At  the  flight  of  the  king, 
he  displayed  a  firmness  and  calmness  that  challenged 
even  the  admiration  of  his  enemies ;  he  loudly  de- 
claimed against  the  execution  of  the  monarch." 

In  1793,  he  was  appointed  general-in-chief  of  the 
army  of  the  Rhine.  He  was  accompanied  during  that 
short  campaign  by  Eugene,  then  scarcely  twelve  years 
old,  and  who  had  already  exhibited  military  capacity 
of  a  high  order.  In  consequence  of  political  difficulties 
and  the  withdrawal  of  the  most  efficient  men  from  the 
army,  General  Beauharnois  sent  in  his  resignation, 
and,  on  his  return  to  France,  was  ordered  to  retire 
twenty  leagues  from  the  frontiers.  He  remained  in 
quiet  seclusion  during  a  short  period,  until  he  fell 
under  suspicion,  was  arrested,  brought  to  Paris,  and, 
like  the  host  who  already  crowded  the  prisons,  awaited 
in  chains  a  speedy  death. 

Madame  Beauharnois  was  filled  with  terror  at  the 
news  of  the  long-dreaded  catastrophe.  She  exerted  all 
her  influence  and  eloquence  to  save  him,  but  only 
brought  vengeance  on  her  own  head.  She,  too,  was 
imprisoned  in  the  gloomy  walls  of  a  monastery  belong- 
ing to  the  Carmelite  priests,  the  other  prisons  being 
already  crowded.  Hortense  was  kindly  cared  for  by  a 
friend  of  Josephine,  and  Eugene  was  adopted  by  a  poor 
artisan,  with  whom  he  labored,  employing  his  leisure 
hours  in  stud}^  and  military  exercises.     Madame  Beau- 


JosEPHrfTE.  283 


harnois  was  not  alone  in  her  imprisonment.  Her  room 
and  the  adjoining  ones  were  occupied  by  ladies  of  rank, 
who,  like  herself,  suffered  innocently  and  waited  in 
hourly  expectation  of  being  led  forth  to  execution. 
They,  with  many  other  prisoners,  assembled  daily  in 
the  court  or  corridors,  to  console  each  other,  to  weep  to- 
gether, or  to  lament  the  daily  loss  of  their  numbers,  as 
one  after  another  was  torn  away  to  meet  a  horrible 
death. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  terror  and  grief,  Madame 
Beauharnois  preserved  a  calm,  fearless  aspect,  in  part 
supported  by  her  belief  in  the  prediction  of  her  strange 
future.  To  inspire  her  terrified  companions  with 
courage,  she  assured  them  it  had  been  foretold  she  was 
to  be  Queen  of  France,  and  if  the  prophecy  was  to  be 
fulfilled,  they  should  surely  escape  death.  Thus  she 
consoled  and  amused  her  trembling  companions,  while, 
at  every  entrance  of  the  harsb,  unfeeling  jailer,  they 
were  nearly  paralyzed  with  fear  lest  their  turn  had 
come  to  be  conducted  to  the  guillotine.  To  their  own 
perilous  condition  was  added  a  distressing  anxiety  for 
the  fate  of  relatives.  They  managed  to  obtain  jour- 
nals in  which  were  lists  of  the  executed,  but  no  one 
had  courage  to  glance  over  those  pages  of  crime,  or 
could  read  with  unfaltering  voice  the  names  of  friends 
numbered  among  the  victims  of  the  bloody  Robes- 
pierre. 

This  was  a  task  that  fell  upon  Josephine,  and  it  was 
a  sad  one ;  for  the  list  often  contained  the  names  of 
fathers,  brothers,  or  sons  of  the  listeners,  who  received 
the  sudden  intelligence  with  shrieks  or  heart-rending 


^^4  JOSEPHINE. 


groans,  in  which  the  rest  sympathized  with  burning 
tears,  knowing  that  they  in  their  turn  must  feel  the 
fierce  tyrant's  stroke.  One  morning,  as  Josephine  read 
the  hst,  she  came  to  the  name  of  her  own  husband.  A 
cry  of  agony  announced,  to  the  pale  group  about  her, 
what  her  lijts  could  not  articulate,  and  she  fell  senseless 
to  the  floor.  Surrounded  by  companions  to  whom  her 
kindness  and  gentleness  had  endeared  her,  she  received 
every  attention  in  their  power  to  bestow,  yet  was  re- 
stored with  great  difficulty.  Repeated  fainting-fits  suc- 
ceeded the  shock,  and  the  ensuing  illness  delayed  her 
execution.  A  few  days  afterwards,  a  friend  found 
means  to  allay  the  intense  anxiety  of  the  remaining  pris- 
oners, by  adroitly  thrusting  a  slip  of  paper  through  the 
grating  of  the  window ;  it  contained  the  cheering 
words — "  Robesperrie  and  his  accomplices  are  marked 
for  accusation  ; — be  quiet — you  are  saved  !"  What  a 
relief  to  the  long-continued  fears  of  the  exhausted 
prisoners  !  And  when,  on  the  following  day,  the  great 
iron  doors  were  thrown  back  for  their  free  egress,  with 
what  joy  they  left  behind  the  grating  locks,  the  barred 
windows,  the  cheerless  cells,  and  breathed  a  pure,  free 
air  asain !  Then  came  the  thought  of  beloved  and 
dear  faces  they  were  to  see  no  more,  the  remembrance 
of  the  family  circle  broken,  scattered,  and  bleeding 
under  the  iron  tread  of  a  mad  tyranny.  They  could 
not  seek  even  the  fire-side,  doubly  dear  for  the  sake  of 
the  lost.  Without  home  or  shelter,  they  could  only 
depend  upon  the  bounty  of  those  who  had  escaped 
8uch  an  accumulation  of  calamities. 

With  nothing  left  of  all   her  estates,  her  relations 


JOSEPHINE.  286 


equally  deprived  of  their  wealth  ami  unable  to  assist 
her,  Josephine  was  nearly  reduced  to  a  state  of  indi- 
gence, and  depended  upon  her  own  exertions  and  those 
of  her  young  son  Eugene,  for  support.  To  him  she 
read  and  re-read  the  treasured  letter  Beauharnois  had 
penned  just  before  his  execution.  Full  of  touching 
affection,  regret  for  the  doubts  he  had  over  entertained 
of  his  wife's  love,  anxiety  for  her  and  the  fate  of  their 
children,  and  overflowing  with  tenderness  towards 
them  all, — this  last  gift,  these  words  of  remembrance, 
were  dwelt  upon  with  tears  by  mother  and  son,  while 
they  fired  Eugene  with  the  wrongs  of  France,  and 
made  him  impatient  for  the  arm  and  voice  of  man- 
hood. 

Straitened  in  their  means,  Josephine  applied  to  Tal- 
lien,  and  succeeded,  after  a  time,  in  obtaining  a  small 
indemnity  from  the  public  property,  which  enabled 
them  to  live  comfortably  with  economy.  She  educated 
her  children  by  the  exercise  of  her  own  abundant 
talents.  The  only  amusement  in  which  she  indulged 
was  a  daily  visit  to  the  saloons  of  her  friend  Madame 
Fontenoy,  where  were  assembled  those  who,  like  her- 
self, suffered  from  the  events  of  the  Revolution,  and 
had  not  even  their  titles  remaining.  Thus  Madame 
Beauharnois  passed  a  long  time  in  seclusion  till, 
through  Tallien's  exertions,  a  compensation  for  her  se- 
questered estates  was  given  her,  by  which  means  she 
perfected  Eugene's  education,  he  being  placed  under 
the  discipline  of  General  Hoche,  with  whom  he  ac- 
quired the  military  skill  for  which  he  was  afterwards 
distinguished. 


^.^6  josephinU. 


Napoleon  Bonaparte  was  now  the  rising  star  o! 
France.  He  was  received  in  society  as  a  distinguished 
guest,  notwithstanding  his  lack  of  noble  blood.  He 
commanded  notice  by  his  unquestionable  talent,  energy 
and  ambition,  as  well  as  by  his  exciting  wit  and  his  ec- 
centricities. He  had  heard  much  of  Madame  Beauhar- 
nois  through  a  friendj  entitled  in  her  "Secret  Me- 
moirs" Madame  Chat  .  .  .  E,en  .  .  .  ,  whose  soirees  he 
frequented.  He  was  also  interested  in  her  as  the 
mother  of  Eugene,  who  attracted  his  particular  com- 
mendation by  the  bold,  manly  freedom  with  which  he 
had  presented  himself  and  demanded  the  privilege  of 
wearing  his  fathers  sword. 

Josephine  and  Napoleon  met  one  day,  just  after  the 
daring  Corsican's  feats  with  the  Parisian  division  of 
troops,  newly  placed  under  his  command.  The  meet- 
ing was  at  the  house  of  their  mutual  friend ;  and  of 
this  occasion  she  says,  "  While  sitting  by  a  window,  I 
was  looking  at  some  violets  of  which  my  friend  took 
the  greatest  care,  when  suddenly  the  famous  Bonaparte 
was  announced.  Why,  I  was  unable  to  tell,  but  that 
name  made  me  tremble  ;  a  violent  shudder  seized  me 
on  seeing  him  approach.  I  dared,  however,  to  catch 
the  attention  of  the  man  who  had  achieved  so  easy  a 
victory  over  the  Parisians.  The  rest  of  the  company 
looked  at  him  in  silence,    I  was  the  first  to  speak  to  him. 

"  '  It  seems  to  me,  citizen  general,'  said  T,  '  that  it  is 
only  with  regret  that  you  have  spread  consternation 
through  the  capital.  Should  you  reflect  a  moment 
upon  the  frightful  service  you  have  performed,  you 
would  shudder  at  its  consequences.' 


JOSEPHINE. 


237 


"  '  'Tis  quite  possible,  madame,'  said  he.  '  The  mili- 
tury  are  but  automata — they  know  nothing  but  to  obey. 
The  most  of  my  guns  were  charged  only  with  powder. 
I  only  aimed  to  give  the  Parisians  a  small  lesson — 'tis, 
besides,  my  seal  that  I  have  set  upon  France' 

"  The  cahn  tone,  the  imperturbable  sang  froid  with 
which  Bonaparte  recounted  the  massacre  of  so  many 
of  the  unhappy  citizens  of  Paris,  roused  my  indigna- 
tion. '  These  light  skirmishes,'  said  he,  '  are  but  the 
first  coruscations  of  my  glory.' 

"  '  Ah,'  said  I,  '  if  you  are  to  acquire  glory  at  such 
a  price,  I  would  much  rather  count  you  among  the 
victims.'  " 

Madame  Beauharnois  conceived  the  greatest  dislike 
for  Napoleon  at  this  interview,  which  was  not  lessened 
during  succeeding  visits.  She  considered  him  a  vain 
ambitious  boaster,  nor  was  she  at  all  attracted  by  his 
personal  appearance.  Pale,  slender,  and  short,  she 
donned  him  the  title  of  "  Little  Bonaparte,"  and  made 
sport  of  his  eccentricities  to  his  friends.  Her  dislike 
for  him  increased  so  much  that  she  finally  discontinued 
her  visits  to  Madame  Chat . . .  Ren  .  .'s,  to  avoid  him  : 
but,  as  she  expresses  it,  "  the  more  she  sought  to  avoid 
him,  the  more  he  multiplied  himself  in  her  way." 

Barras,  one  of  the  Directors,  strongly  urged  her  to 
accept  Napoleon,  predicting  his  future  greatness,  and 
informing  her  of  his  intended  appointment  by  the  Di- 
rectory as  general-in-chief  of  the  army  to  Italy.  It 
was  sometime,  however,  before  she  could  give  her  con- 
sent to  the  proposals,  or  become  interested  in  the  sin- 
gular man  who  professed  the  strongest  attachment  for 


238  JOSEPHINE. 


her.  When  she  finally  promised  her  hand,  she  con- 
cealed the  fact  from  all  her  friends,  dreading  their  re- 
proaches. Upon  her  mai-riage,  which  occurred  March 
9th,  1796,  t\\  o  days  before  Bonaparte  set  out  upon  hia 
eauipaign  to  Italy,  all  Paris  was  iu  coilimotion  at  the 
"  unexpected  event,  and  more  especially  her  friends, 
from  whom  she  had  kept  the  secrect. 

Josepliine  is  described  in  this,  her  twenty  eight*h 
year,  as  "  by  no  means  beautiful,  but  her  manners  and 
deportment  were  particularl}'^  graceful:  there  was  a 
peculiar  charm  in  her  smile  and  sweetness  in  her 
tones:  she  also  dressed  with  an  infinite  degree  of 
taste."  She  remained  in  Paris,  at  Bonaparte's  luxuri- 
ous hotel  in  Rue  Chantereine,  where  she  was  constantly 
surrounded  by  the  most  distinguislied  persons  of  Paris, 
assembled  to  do  homage  to  the  interesting  wife  of  the 
general  who  was  creating  such  a  lively  sensation 
throughout  France. 

During  the  three  following  months,  nothing  was 
talked  of  among  the  Parisians  but  the  brilUant  victo- 
ries of  the  young  general,  who  was  striking  terror  in 
all  Europe  by  his"  skillful  strokes  and  unheard-of  suc- 
j'.ess.  He  had  already  penetrated  into  the  very  heart 
of  Italy.  Couriers  were  daily  despatched  to  Josephine, 
keeping  her  fully  informed  of  all  his  movements.  The 
victory  of  Milan  achieved,  the  Austrians  were  con- 
quered, and  the  Italians  paid  homage  to  the  daring 
commander;  he  won  their  admiration  while  he  sub- 
dued them  ;  nothing  was  needed  to  complete  his  satis 
faction  but  the  presence  of  his  wife  to  share  his  honors. 
In  his  frequent  letters  he  entreated  her  to  come.    Read- 


JOSEPHINE.  239 


ily  obeying  his  slightest  wish,  she  left  Hortense  in 
charge  of  Madame  Campau,  to  complete  her  education, 
and  proceeded  by  rapid  stages  to  Italy — the  land  of 
sapphire  skies,  towering  mountains,  and  hills  luxuriant 
with  fragrant  vineyards,  and  rich  in  palaces  and  cathe- 
drals, abounding  in  magnificent  cities  and  enlivened 
with  a  population  in  gay  and  picturesque  costumes. 
These  scenes  enchanted  Josephine,  who  was  animated 
with  a  glowing  appreciation  of  the  beautiful  and  sub- 
lime. 

Napoleon  gave  her  a  cordial  and  enthusiastic  recep- 
tion. The  Milanese  were  full  of  curiosity  and  eagerness 
to  behold  the  wife  of  the  wonderful  warrior;  to  their 
excited  imaginations,  he  seemed  the  god  of  war  perso^i- 
ified,  or  at  least  possessed  of  some  wonderful  talisman 
by  which  armies  were  made  to  vanish  at  his  pleasure. 
All  the  distinguished  and  the  ^lite  of  Milan  paid  court 
to  Madame  Bonaparte,  who  captivated  them  at  once 
by  her  irresistible  sweetness  and  affability.  If  they  had 
honored  Napoleon  before,  their  ardor  and  worship  was 
redoubled  at  the  additional  charm  with  which  the  mu- 
sical and  loved  name  of  Josephine  invested  him.  Balls, 
fetes  and  concerts  succeeded  one  another  in  bewilderins: 
profusion  and  magnificence,  and  the  princes  of  the  If^al- 
ian  states  were  outdone  in  the  display  and  state  of 
Madame  Bonaparte's  court.  The  expense  occasioned 
by  this  outla}'^,  together  with  her  generous  gifts,  caused 
some  reproof  from  Napoleon,  but  he  was  silenced  by 
her  adroit  reasoning.  "  In  some  sort,"  said  she,  "your 
wife  ought  to  eclipse  the  courts  of  the  sovereigns  who 
are  at  war  with  the  French  Republic." 


240  JOSEPHINE. 


Napoleon  continued  his  conquests,  forcing  nis  way 
even  to  the  midst  of  Eonie  and  humbling  the  pope  in 
his  own  high  and  hitherto  invulnerable  place,  while 
Josephine  remained  at  Milan  conquering  the  hearts  of 
the  people,  and  keeping  them  in  complete  submission 
by  her  prompt  and  efiicieut  measures,  munificent  gifts, 
conciliating  kindness  and  flowing  sympathy.  It  was 
here  in  Italy  that  Napoleon  learned  the  rare  traits  of 
his  wife  ;  he  plainly  saw  she  was  to  be  henceforth  in- 
dispensable to  his  advancement,  security  and  glory. 
Here  she  first  acquired  the  strong  influence  over  him 
that  ceased  only  in  her  death.  With  the  satisfaction 
of  rendering  his  position  safe  by  keeping  him  informed 
of  the  secret  jealousies  and  intentions  of  the  Directory 
in  France;  by  a  clear,  unerring  judgment,  gaining  a 
voice  in  his  diplomatic  measures  as  well  as  martial 
movements;  by  her  address,  securing  an  unbounded 
influence  over  the  admiring  Italians ;  with  nothing  to 
fear  and  everything  to  hope,  Josephine  was  seeing  her 
happiest  days.  She  was  sipping  from  the  golden  cup 
of  fame  and  splendor,  but  like  all  the  rest  who  partake 
its  enticing  draughts,  she  found  bitter  dregs  underneath 
the  sparkle  and  foam. 

After  the  campaign  signalized  by  Wurmser's  decisive 
defeat.  Napoleon  returned  in  triumph  to  Milan,  vvhej-e 
Madame  Bonaparte  had  remained,  and  celebrated  there 
the  anniversary  of  the  Eepublic  with  the  utmost  pomp 
and  costly  luxury.  The  round  of  pleasure  quickly 
wearied  the  hero,  who  delighted  most  in  the  sounds 
and  excitement  of  the  battle-field,  to  which  he  eagerly 
returned.     The  constant  display  and  stately  ceremony 


JOSEPHINE.  241 


that  Josephine  was  obliged  to  keep  up  during  his  ab- 
sence, was  fatiguing  and  distasteful  to  her,  but,  once 
freed  from  this  restraint,  she  breathed  with  intense  de- 
light the  perfumed  air  of  the  enchanting  country  around 
Milan. 

Up'^n  one  occasion,  she  visited  with  Napoleon  the 
sin  J,  alar  and  beautiful  islands  in  Lake  Maggiore,  from 
which  rose  luxurious  villas,  surrounded  by  terraced 
gardens,  where  the  citron,  myrtle  and  fragrant  orange 
trees  perpetually  blossomed  and  hung  heavy  with 
tempting  fruit.  These  lay  in  the  midst  of  the  lake, 
and  clear,  glassy  waters  rippled  here  and  there  before 
the  swift  prows  of  "  winged  boats,"  plying  to  and  from 
the  Switzer's  shores.  Beyond,  towered  the  Alps  ;  the 
eye  falling  first  upon  vine-covered  slopes,  wandered 
farther  over  wooded  heights,  then  above  and  beyond 
to  where  white  and  gray  rocks,  boldly  outlined,  shot 
up  in  snowy  peaks,  lost  in  a  veil  of  blue  mist  that 
shaded  into  crimson  when  the  rays  of  the  evening  sun 
had  left  the  valley  to  linger  in  warmest  colors  upon  the 
unclimbed  heights. 

The  beautiful  city  of  Venice,  too,  called  forth  her 
enthusiastic  encomiums.  Its  massive  palaces,  costly 
churches,  and  wondrous  bridges  everywhere  spanning 
the  streets  of  water  through  which  only  noiseless  gon- 
dolas continually  plied  ;  its  delicious  gardens  decorated 
with  innumerable  statues,  vases,  fountains;  the  gay, 
musical  people,  in  endless  varieties  of  dress,  every- 
where lending  a  lively  aspect,  altogether  gave  an  air 
of  storied  romance  that  threw  the  Frenchwomen  of 
Josephine's  suite  in  ecstacies  of  delight.  The  Vene- 
16 


242  JOSEPHINE. 


tians  greeted  the  wife  of  the  victor  with  flattering  hon- 
ors, while  she,  with  her  characteristic  generosity,  lav- 
ished gifts  and  kindnesses  upon  them  that  riveted  their 
extravagant  adoration. 

By  her  thoughtful  intervention,  the  rigors  and  dev- 
astation of  war  were  in  a  measure  checked.  Cities 
were  spared  pillage,  the  vanquished  treated  magnani- 
mously, and  the  helpless  protected — acts  which  exalted 
and  endeared  her  to  the  Italians  far  more  than  her  gifts, 
and  secured  the  devotion  of  her  husband,  half-jealous 
of  her  evident  power.  "I  conquer  provinces,  Jose- 
phine conquers  hearts,"  was  his  playful  comment. 

Suspicious  of  the  Directory,  and  knowing  their  wish 
and  intention  to  dispose,  in  some  way,  of  a  man,  whose 
growing  power  and  ambition  they  had  reason  to  fear, 
Napoleon  suddenly  and  promptly  returned  to  Paris, 
leaving  Josephine  at  Milan.  She  was  not  suffered  to 
remain  long.  Even  the  most  virtuously  great  do  not 
escape  malice  and  calumny  ;  knowing  this,  Josephine 
could  hardly  have  expected  to  have  been  spared  the 
groundless  scandal  which  was  cunningly  whispered 
into  the  ears  of  the  impetuous,  exacting  and  jealous  hero. 
Napoleon  commanded  her  immediate  return,  which 
she  obeyed  without  delay.  He  received  her  with  un- 
kindness,  and,  for  a  time,  their  domestic  harmony  was 
interrupted.  By  the  interposition  of  a  friend  a  recon- 
ciliation was  effected. 

The  hotel  in  Rue  Chantereine  was  now  too  humble 
for  the  famed  and  laurel-crowned  victor.  In  order  to 
maintain  a  household  more  in  keeping  with  his  posi- 
tion,   Josephine    purchased    Malmaison,     an    elegant 


JOSEPHINE.  243 


country-seat  in  the  environs  of  Paris.  Napoleon's 
restless  ambition  would  not  allow  him  luxurious  repose, 
neither  did  the  timid  Directory  wish  the  presence  of  so 
dangerous  a  man.  The  French  regarded  him  as  their 
deliverer,  and  were  already  fascinated  with  the  name 
around  which  clusters  so  much  glory  and  so  much  odi- 
um. Fearful  of  the  results,  the  Directory  gladly  ac- 
quiesced in  the  proposed  expedition  to  Egypt,  which 
they  hoped  might  give  some  pretext  in  the  end  for  as- 
persions and  dishonor,  if  he  did  not  fall  in  the  contest. 
This  he  wisely  foresaw,  and  left  Josephine  to  guard  his 
interests  at  home  and  use  her  unlimited  influence  to 
keep  his  star  in  the  ascendency. 

Malmaison  was  her  home  during  the  year  of  the 
Syrian  campaign.  Without  ostentation,  she  remained 
in  this  beautiful  retreat,  adorning  it  with  every  possible 
attraction.  The  gardens  and  green-houses  were  filled 
with  the  rarest  flowers  and  exotics,  of  which  she  was 
passionately  fond.  Rich  Etruscan  vases  and  graceful 
statuary,  chiselled  by  the  best  masters,  ornamented  the 
grounds  and  imparted  an  air  of  taste  and  expensive  re- 
finement that  attracted  amateurs  from  every  quarter. 
Josephme's  income  was  large,  but  she  greatly  exceeded 
it,  in  gratifying  the  love  of  art,  and  in  the  lavish  gifts 
she  bestowed  upon  every  applicant,  from  the  founder 
of  expensive  but  valuable  institutions,  down  to  the 
poor,  thread -bare  writing-master,  who  claimed  the 
honor  of  first  guiding  Napoleon's  pen.  Her  generosity 
never  consulted  the  length  of  her  purse. 

A  constant  correspondence  was  kept  up  between  her- 
self and  husband.     lie  prized  her  letters,  hastily  tear 


244  JOSEPHINE. 


ing  them  open  and  reading  them  Avith  the  greatest 
avidity,  even  in  the  midst  of  battle.  During  the  last 
mouths  of  liis  absence,  however,  he  neglected  to  write 
with  his  usual  punctuality  and  affection,  since  he  had 
become  violently  jealous  of  his  wife  through  the  mis- 
representations of  those  who  watched  her  with  envy 
and  malice.  Eeports  of  his  defeat,  and  even  death, 
reached  France,  but  while  the  truth  of  it  was  being 
discussed,  he  suddenly  appeared  on  the  shores  of  France, 
with  his  characteristic  and  startling  rapidity  of  move- 
ment. 

Josephine  was  at  a  magnificent  lev^e  given  by 
Gohier,  the  President  of  the  Directory.  When  the 
news  of  Napoleon's  arrival  was  announced,  it  was  re- 
ceived with  a  thrill  of  surprise  and  joy  by  the  guests 
who  crowded  the  saloon,  while  Josephine  was  almost 
overcome  at  the  suddenness  of  the  event  to  which  she 
had  impatiently  looked  forward.  Immediately  resolv- 
ing to  be  among  the  first  to  meet  him  on  his  v/ay  to 
Paris,  and  thus  remove  his  unjust  suspicions,  she  left 
the  gay  circle,  and,  accompanied  by  Hortense,  set  out 
with  the  utmost  speed.  Unfortunately  they  passed 
each  other  by  different  routes,  which  mistake  Josephine 
sought  to  repair  in  returning  to  Paris  by  the  fleetest 
posts,  but  too  late  to  meet  the  arbitrary  man,  whose 
tyranny  she  began  to  feel.  He  would  not  receive  her 
when  she  reached  their  city  residence,  since  her  ab- 
sence confirmed  his  suspicions,  nor  did  he  abate  his 
resentment  till,  by  the  tearful  entreaties  of  Hortense 
and  Eugene,  and  the  reproaches  of  her  friends,  who 
reminded  him  of  all  he  miglit  have  lost  but  for  her 


JOSEPHINE.  245 


faithful  and  untiring  devotion  to  his  interests  in  his  ab- 
sence, his  temper  was  finally  appeased,  and  he  again 
welcomed  the  wife  who  suffered  the  most  poignant 
grief  from  this  rade  repulse  of  her  tenderest  affection. 

They  retired  to  Malmaison,  which  at  once  became 
the  scene  of  pleasure,  of  political  debates  and  am- 
bitious schemes, — in  fine,  it  was  here  where  Bonaparte 
perfected  his  designs  upon  France.  Upon  his  return, 
he  found  the  government  weakened  by  opposing  fac- 
tions, and  Italy,  whicli  he  had  so  triumphantly  wrested 
from  the  Austrians,  retaken,  with  but  little  resistance 
from  the  irresolute  Directory.  Irritated  by  this,  his 
determination  was  the  more  confirmed  to  be  the  master 
of  his  own  destiny  and  the  arbitrator  of  the  French 
nation,  if  not  of  the  whole  of  Europe.  Through  Jo- 
sephine's foresight  and  alertness  in  discovering  the  de- 
signs of  all  parties,  he  was  enabled  to  foil  the  Direc- 
tory at  the  moment  his  real  aims  were  discovered; 
striking  the  final  blow  the  very  day  on  which  his  ar 
rest  was  to  have  been  made.  He  had,  with  skillful  ad- 
dress, secured  the  enthusiastic  services  of  the  military, 
and  when  he  appeared  before  the  Council  of  Five,  their 
cries  of  "  Outlaw  him !  Down  with  the  Dictator !" 
were  hushed  by  the  appearance  of  the  soldiery,  who 
rushed  to  his  rescue  and  scattered  the  Keprcsentatives 
in  utter  confusion,  at  the  bayonet's  point. 

Napoleon  was  immediately  proclaimed  First  Consul. 
This  anticipated  event  had  been  looked  to  by  Jose- 
phine with  great  interest  and  anxiety,  not  from  am- 
bitious or  selfish  motives,  but  because  she  seriously 
judged  it  to  be  for  the  glory  and  good  of  France, 


♦ 


•» 


246  JOSEPHINE. 


which,  since  the  downfall  of  royalty,  had  known  noth- 
ing but  turmoil,  bloodshed  and  innumerable  conspira- 
cies that  threatened  to  enact  again  the  horrible  scenes 
of  the  Revolution. 

The  Consul  took  up  his  residence  at  the  palace  of  Lux- 
embourg. This  soon  proving  too  small  in  its  dimensions, 
he  decided  to  occupy  the  palace  of  the  Tuilleries ;  this 
was  better  suited  to  his  aspirations,  as  having  been  the 
•seat  of  royalty ;  yet,  to  blin  d  the  lovers  of  Republicanism 
and  to  secure  the  devotion  of  all,  he  styled  it  the  "  Gov- 
ernmental Palace,"  and  had  the  pet  word  "  Republic" 
emblazoned  in  gold  letters  upon  its  front.  He  took 
possession  of  it  with  great  pomp,  distinguishing  the  oc- 
casion by  military  display,  fireworks  and  general  re- 
joicings among  the  people. 

The  first  soiree  given  at  the  Tuilleries,  was  attended 
by  all  the  distinguished  and  the  beauty  of  Paris,  as 
well  as  citizens  of  every  class.  The  crowd  was  so 
great,  that  even  the  private  apartments  were  thrown 
open  to  the  guests.  The  First  Consul  entered  to  re- 
ceive the  congratulations  and  homage  of  the  citizens, 
with  little  ceremony  and  in  plain  uniform,  distinguished 
only  by  the  tri  color  sash,  worn  with  good  taste  and 
with  his  usual  policy.  Curiosity  and  conjecture  was  at 
its  height  as  to  the  style  in  which  Josephine  would 
appear  as  the  wife  of  the  hero  of  so  many  battles,  the 
subduer  of  nations,  and  the  guardian  of  France — a  cu- 
riosity greatly  disappointed,  when  she  entered  unan- 
nounced, leaning  upon  the  arm  of  Talleyrand,  then  min 
ister  of  Foreign  Affairs ;  she  was  drest  with  the  utmost 
simplicity  in  white,  her  hair  negligently  confined  by  a 


JOSEPHINE.  247 


plaiij  comb,  and  with  no  ornament  but  an  unostenta- 
tious necklace  of  pearls.  The  unassuming  dress  was 
tlie  more  noticeable  from  the  marked  contrast  it  af- 
forded to  the  splendidly  attired  ladies  in  showy  bro- 
cades, flashing  diamonds  and  waving  plumes  that  had 
been  selected  with  the  most  fastidious  care  to  grace  the 
occasion.  The  first  expression  of  surprise  gave  way 
to  a  murmur  of  admiration,  as  Josephine  gracefully 
passed  through  the  apartments,  saluting  her  guests  with 
fascinating  affability,  and  natural,  becoming  dignity. 

"  She  was  at  this  time  in  her  thirty-eighth  year,  but 
she  retained  those  personal  advantages  which  usually 
belong  only  to  more  youthful  years.  Her  stature  was  ex- 
actly that  perfection  which  is  neither  too  tall  for  female 
delicacy,  nor  so  diminutive  as  to  detract  from  dignity. 
Her  person  was  faultlessly  symmetrical,  and  the  light- 
ness and  elasticity  of  its  action  gave  an  aerial  character 
to  her  graceful  carriage.  Her  features  were  small  and 
finely  modelled,  of  a  Grecian  cast.  The  habitual  ex- 
pression of  her  countenance  was  a  placid  sweetness. 
Her  eyes  were  of  a  deep  blue,  clear  and  brilliant, 
usually  lying  half  concealed  under  their  long  silky  eye- 
lashes. The  winning  tenderness  of  her  mild,  subdued 
glance,  had  a  power  which  could  tranquillize  Napoleon 
in  his  darkest  moods.  Her  hair  was  *  glossy  chestnut 
brown,'  harmonizing  delightfully  with  a  clear  com- 
plexion and  neck  of  almost  dazzling  whiteness.  Her 
voice  constituted  one  of  the  most  pleasing  attractions 
and  rendered  her  conversation  the  most  captivating 
that  can  easily  be  conceived." 

The  occurrences  which  followed  Napoleon's  seizure 


248  JOSEPHINE. 


of  power,  contributed  to  his  fame  and  increased  tbe  en- 
thusiasm and  admiration  of  the  French.  He  was  ready 
at  all  times  to  give  redress  to  those  who  entered  com^- 
plaints ;  recalled  men  of  letters  and  of  science,  who 
had  been  obliged  to  fly ;  encouraged  the  arts,  gave  new 
impulse  to  manufactures,  and  employment  to  the  in- 
dustrious poor.  Through  Josephine's  influence  he 
abolished  the  sanguinary  laws  that  oppressed  the 
numerous  exiles,  brought  back  the  emigrants  and  re- 
stored their  estates  or  indemniiied  their  losses,  till 
France  became  gay,  happy,  peaceful,  and  industrious, 
and  forgot  in  this  promising  era,  the  terrors  and  suffer- 
ings of  the  past. 

The  consul  accompanied  Josephine  to  Malmaison  to 
remain  every  Saturday  and  Sabbath,  and  on  these  oc- 
casions he  indulged  in  amusements,  in  which  he  was 
joined  by  Louis  Bonaparte,  Duroc,  Josephine,  Hor- 
tense,  and  several  young  ladies  of  the  old  nobility  who 
had  become  impoverished  orphans  by  the  misfortunes 
of  the  Revolution,  and  whom  Josephine  had  adopted ; 
superintending  their  education  and  caring  for  their 
welfare  with  motherly  kindness.  From  these  uncere- 
monious recreations,  they  returned  to  the  state  and 
pomp  of  the  Tuilleries,  often  with  visible  reluctance. 

Napoleon's  tyranny  over  his  household  and  in  little 
things,  increased  in  proportion  to  his  power.  Espe- 
cially towards  Josephine  and  her  suite,  he  exercised  a 
wayward  and  annoying  surveillance,  that  would  have 
been  insupportable  to  any  other  than  his  devoted, 
patient  wife.  Her  influence  over  him  was  widely 
known,  and,  in  consequence,  she  was  thronged  with 


JOSEPHINE.  249 


applicants  of  every  description.  To  some  she  made 
promises,  to  some  she  granted  pensions,  and  for  others 
she  interceded  with  an  eloquence  that  rarely  failed. 
When  Napoleon  exhibited  the  selfish,  domineering 
spirit  of  crushing  every  obstacle  that  intercepted  the 
rays  of  his  own  glory,  wresting  from  the  generals  who 
had  faithfully  served  him,  dearly-won  laurels  to  crown 
his  own  brow,  Josephine  unhesitatingly  reproached 
him  for  want  of  gratitude,  and  charged  him  with  aim- 
ing at  kingly  power.  These  frequent  altercations 
opened  her  eyes  to  his  real  designs,  and  caused  an  oc- 
casional coldness  between  them.  She  trembled  at  the 
suggestion  of  his  assuming  a  position,  some  day,  that 
might  plunge  them  in  as  frightful  a  vortex  as  that 
which  engulphed  the  last  reigning  king,  with  his  throne 
and  sceptre. 

In  May,  1800,  Napoleon  with  a  brilliant  army,  again 
set  out  for  Ital}'.  Josephine  retired  to  Malmaison, 
where  she  remained  during  his  absence,  indulging  in 
her  predominant  passion,  the  study  of  botany ;  she 
also  made  a  collection  of  rare  animals,  many  of  which 
were  sent  to  her  from  distant  countries,  in  remeni- 
brance  of  some  kindness  she  had  bestowed.  So  gen- 
eral was  the  admiration  of  her  character,  that  orders 
were  given  hj  neighboring  sovereigns  to  allow  these 
gifts  to  pass  unmolested  even  during  the  time  of 
war. 

Napoleon  was  absent  but  two  months.  With  incred- 
ible speed  his  army  had  crossed  the  Alps,  in  defiance 
of  danger  and  death,  descended  upon  the  beautiful 
plains   of  Italy,    and    with    a    few   brilliant    strokes, 


250  JOSEPHINE. 


scattered  the  astounded  Austrians,  who  believed  him 
quietly  reposing  upon  his  laurels  at  the  Tuilleries.  He 
returned  in  triumphal  march,  heavily  laden  with  testi- 
monials of  gratitude  from  the  Italians  and  re-entered 
France,  advancing  towards  the  capital  amidst  the 
shouts  of  gathering  crowds,  roused  to  the  highest  pitch 
of  enthusiasm.  His  arrival  at  the  Tuilleries  at  mid- 
night, was  first  made  known  to  Josephine  by  his  noisy, 
rapid  strides  through  her  apartments,  when  he  came  to 
arouse  her  with  the  account  of  his  triumphant  success. 
These  sudden  interruptions  of  her  rest  were  not  un 
common,  for,  when  at  Malmaison,  she  was  frequently 
awakened  from  deep  sleep  to  accompany  him  in  long 
walks  through  the  botanical  gardens  and  "  little  for 
est,"  or  to  listen  to  some  new  plans  which  had  suddenly 
shot  through  his  restless  brain. 

Not  long  after  his  return  from  Italy,  the  marriage 
of  Hortense  de  Beauharnois  with  Louis  Bonaparte, 
took  place  with  great  pomp.  This  union  was  not 
prompted  by  affection,  since  Hortense  preferred  Gen- 
eral Duroc — an  unaccountable  attachment,  as  he  was 
many  years  her  senior,  of  few  attainments,  and  lacked 
the  qualities  which  usually  attract  the  admiration  and 
love  of  woman.  Louis  Bonaparte  was  equally  in  love 
with  a  lady  whose  name  is  not  transmitted  to  us.  He 
was  pale  and  slender,  with  a  quiet,  sombre  air,  not  at 
all  attractive.  Yet  he  possessed  many  traits  that  won 
upon  Josephine,  and  caused  her  to  prefer  him  for  Hor- 
tense rather  than  Duroc.  One  would  suppose  that  the 
sufferings  of  her  own  early  life  would  have  prevented 
Josephine  from  influencing  her  daughter  to  a  mariage 


josEPHiisrE.  251 


de  convenance,   but  her  extreme  dislike  to  Duroc  and 
disapproval   of  his  principles   was   her   best   excuse. 
She  hoped  that  a  union  with  the  Bonaparte  family, 
would  heal  the  difficulties  and  prevent  the  frequent 
jealousies  and  contentions  arising  between  them.     To 
these    considerations,    Hortense   was   sacrificed.     She 
stood  in  the  midst  of  a  gay  assemblage,  a  jewelled, 
flower-crowned  bride,  with  a  heart  oppressed  with  an 
unendurable  weight  of  sadness.     As  to  her  personal 
appearance,  she  "was  not  exactly  beautiful;  for  the 
conformation  of  her  mouth,  and  her  teeth  which  rather 
projected,  took  away  from  the  regularity  of  a  counte- 
nance, otherwise  very  pleasing  in  all  its  sweetness  and 
benignity  of  expression.     Her  eyes  like  her  mother's 
were  blue,  her  comj.lcxion   clcaj-,   and  her  hair  of  a 
charming  blonde.     In  stature  she  did  not  exceed  the 
middle  size;  but  her  person  was  beautifully  formed, 
and  she  inherited  all  her  mother's  grace  of  movement." 
At  the  close  of  this  year  the  Consulship  was  bestow- 
ed upon  Napoleon  for  life,  but  this  additional  evidence 
of  confidence  and  admiration  gave  Josephine  more  anx- 
iety than  gratification,  for,  with  her  keen  foresight  and 
knowledge  of  Napoleon's  character,  she  perceived  the 
final  result,  and  knew  full  well  that  his  ambitious  strides 
would  soon  carry  him  beyond  the  shadow  of  Eepubli- 
canism  that  remained.     His  imitation  of  royaltv  in  oc 
cupying  a  separate  suite  of  apartments  in  their  new 
residence  in  the  splendid  palace  of  St.  Cloud,  gave  her 
still  greater  cause  for  anxiety;  it  lent  a  seriousness  to 
the  vague  hints  of  divorce  from  Napoleon,  who  longed 
to  perpetuate  his  power  and  name  through  descendants. 


262  JOSEPHINE. 


Josephine,  however,  was  not  of  an  unhappy  tempera- 
ment, and  was  willing  to  close  her  eyes  to  future  ]lla 
Her  influence  was  still  in  the  ascendant,"  and  with  this 
she  consoled  herself,  though  she  sometimes  failed  in  her 
generous  attempts  to  rescue  those  who  had  fallen  under 
the  consul's  displeasure.  She  was  intensely  interested 
in  the  fate  of  the  Duke  d'Enghien,  whose  life  she 
pleaded  for  with  unavailing  tears  and  entreaties. 

The  time  arrived  when  Napoleon's  crafty  and  un- 
scrupulous measures  enabled  him  to  walk  with  power- 
ful tread  over  the  very  bodies  of  his  foiled  enemies,  to 
the  throne  which,  from  the  first,  had  been  the  goal  of 
his  ambition.     He  seemed  to  throw  a  mysterious  spell 
over  the  French  people,  managing  them  like  a  set  of 
automaton  toys,   making  them  bow  with  blind  ardor 
before  the  very  sceptre  that  a  short  time  before  had 
been  hurled  from  among  them  at  such  frightful  cost. 
Napoleon  and  Josephine  were  crowned  emperor  and 
empress  at  the  church  of  Notre-Dame,  in  the  presence 
of  an  immense  concourse  of  people.     Napoleon  appear- 
ed in  a  gorgeous  state-dress,  attended  by  his  marshals 
and  all  the  dignitaries  of  France,  while  Josephine  was 
magnificently  attired  and  surrounded  by  the  ladies  of 
her  suite.     An  elegantly  decorated  platform  had  been 
erected  at  the  end  of  the  spacious  church.     Here,  after 
an  imposing  performance  of  mass.  Napoleon  received 
the  crown  from  the  Pope,  placed  it  upon  his  head  him- 
self, then  rested  it  a  moment  upon  the  brow  of  Jose- 
phine, who  knelt  before  him  in  tearful  agitation.     The 
notes  of  the  Te  Deum  rolled  grandly  through  the  spa- 
cious area,  then  died  away  in  subdued  tones,  leaving  a 


JOSEPHINE.  '253 


breathless  silence  upon  the  vast  multitude.  The  Tes- 
tament was  then  presented  to  the  emperor,  who  pro- 
nounced the  oath,  with  his  ungloved  hand  resting  upon 
the  sacred  book.  The  ceremonies  finished,  the  impe- 
rial assemblage  retired  amidst  deafening  shouts  of 
''ViveVEmpereurP' 

Soon  after  the  coronation,  Josephine  accompanied 
Napoleon  to  Italy  to  receive  the  "  Iron  Crown  of  An- 
eieret  Lombardy"  that  had  been  offered  him.  This 
second  coronation  took  place  in  the  magnificent  cathe- 
dral of  Milan.  Bonaparte  immediately  appointed  Eu- 
gene de  Bcauharnois  Viceroy  of  Italy,  and  after  a  trium- 
phant tour,  returned  in  state  to  Paris. 

Josephine  now  saw  the  predictions  of  her  greatness  ful- 
filled, but  her  happiness  and  peace  decreased  in  propor- 
tion to  the  unprecedented  rise  of  tlie  man  with  whose 
destinv  hers  was  linked.  She  seldom  saw  the  emperor 
alone,  he  being  almost  always  occupied  in  affairs  of 
state,  01  travelling  by  post  to  all  parts  of  the  kingdom. 
She  sometimes  accompanied  him,  but  the  addresses  to 
which  she  was  obliged  to  reply,  and  the  endless  code 
of  court  ceremonials  which  Napoleon  insisted  upon 
being  minutely  observed,  were  so  innumerable  that 
despite  her  diligence  in  studying  them,  she  could  not 
retain  a  fourth  part  of  them  in  her  head — a  great  an- 
Doyano)  to  her,  notwithstanding  she  never  for  a  mo- 
ment lost  her  self-possession.  Her  impromptu  replies 
renderea  appropriate  by  her  quick  sense  of  fitness,  im- 
parted a  sweetness  and  sincerity  to  whatever  she  said  or 
did,  and  not  only  saved  her  from  censure  or  ridicule,  but 
increased  the  adm'^ation  and  respect  of  those  about  her. 


254  JOSEPHINE. 


It  is  said,  however,  tliat  on  one  occasion  "  when  de- 
parting from  Rheims,  Josephine  presenteii  the  mayo- 
ress with  a  medallion  of  malachite,  set  with  diamonds, 
using  the  expression,  '  It  is  the  emblem  of  hope.' 
Some  days  after,  on  seeing  this  absurdity  in  one  of  the 
journals,  she  could  not  believe  that  she  had  used  it, 
and  despatched  a  courier  instantly  to  Napoleon,  fear- 
ing his  displeasure  above  all  things.  This  occasioned 
the  famous  order  that  no  journalist  should  report  any 
speech  of  the  emperor  or  empress,  unless  the  same  pre- 
viously appeared  in  the  '  Moniteur.'  " 

It  is  also  amusingly  related  that  when  about  to  visit 
one  of  the  Ehenish  cities,  the  ladies  who  wished  to  be 
presented  being  in  doubt  as  to  the  ceremony  used  on  the 
occasion,  applied  to  one  who  had  already  been  initia- 
ted. Among  other  instructions  she  gave  the  following 
"  You  make  three  courtesies ;  one  on  entering  the 
saloon,  one  in  the  middle,  and  a  third  a  few  paces  far- 
ther on,  en  pirouette,^^  (whirling  on  the  point  of  the 
toes.)  Immediately  all  the  ladies  of  Cologne  were 
practising  from  morning  till  night,  "  twirling  away 
like  so  many  spinning  tops  or  dancing  dervishes." 
Fortunately  for  themselves,  as  well  as  the  dignity  of 
the  court,  they  learned  from  one  of  the  empress'  ladies 
of  honor  that  a  gentle  inclination  was  all  that  was  re- 
quired, and  thus  were  relieved  from  the  misfortune  of 
a  misstep,  and  the  empress  and  her  suite  were  spared 
what  must  have  excited  irrepressible  laughter  and  seri- 
ously disturbed  the  stateliness  and  equanimity  of  their 
imperial  majesties. 

During  all  these  excursions,  Josephine  manifested 


JOSEPHINE.  255 


the  utmost  kindness  and  benevolence  to  every  one  who 
apphed  to  her  witli  a  tale  of  distress.  Her  .sensitive 
nature  never  permitted  her  to  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  mis- 
fortune or  suffering,  noi  refuse  her  generous  sympathy 
to  the  poor.  While  partaking  of  a  casual  repast  by  tlu 
way,  she  was  sure  to  offer  a  portion  ofit  to  the  passer- 
by however  beggarly,  ofteii  adding  bounteous  alms. 
Blessings  were  invoked  upoii  her  head  wherever  she 
went,  and  with  just  reason,  foi  Josephine  was  a  friend 
to  the  friendless,  a  mother  to  orphans,  a  benefactress 
to  the  unfortunate. 

For  some  time  after  the  coronation,  the  emperor 
and  empress  remained  at  St.  Cloud.  While  there, 
Josephine  usually  rose  at  nine  o'clock,  ifpent  an  hour 
in  making  a  toilette,  enjoyed  a  walk  or  some  other 
recreation, 'and  breakfasted  at  eleven  o'clock,  when  she 
was  occasionally  joined  by  the  emperor,  though  he 
never  remained  above  ten  minutes  at  table,  considering 
it  lost  time.  She  afterwards  received  petitioners,  to  all 
of  whom  she  gave  ready  assistance.  Retiring  to  her 
own  apartments,  the  remainder  of  the  morning  was 
spent  with  the  ladies  of  her  suite,  all  of  whom  were 
engaged  in  embroidering,  while  one  of  their  number 
read  aloud  from  some  entertaining  and  instructive 
author.  Works  of  fiction  were  never  permitted  to  be 
circulated  in  the  palace,  as  Napoleon  was  strictly  and 
severely  opposed  to  that  class  of  literature.  He  some- 
times suddenly  appeared  in  their  midst,  talking  gaily 
and  freely  with  the  ladies  of  honor,  and  occasionally 
joining  in  a  game  of  cards,  but  his  stay  was  always 
short.     He  was  often  present  while  the  evening  toilet 


256  JOSEPHINE. 


of  the  empress  was  in  preparation,  overturning  her 
boxes  in  his  impatience,  tossing  about  the  most  costly 
jewels  as  if  of  no  value,  and  frightening  her  attendants 
by  his  irritable  criticisnis.  He  did  not  scruple  to  de- 
stroy an  elegant  dress,  if  it  happened  not  to  strike  his 
fancy,  obliging  her  to  assume  another — a  needless  in- 
terference, inasmuch  as  she  was  always  appareled  with 
exquisite  taste. 

He  dined  with  her  at  six  o'clock,  in  company  with 
invited  guests,  who  learned  to  appease  their  appetite 
before  being  seated  at  the  lavishly  supplied  table,  from 
which  they  were  obliged  to  rise  before  the  tempting 
viands  had  been  scarcely  tasted ;  the  emperor  remained 
but  a  few  moments  and  the  empress  and  guests  neces- 
sarily followed  him.  Thus  the  utmost  amiability  was 
essential  to  Josephine,  to  endure  these  petty  tyrannies 
with  an  unruffled  mien. 

An  important  and  happy  event  called  her  to  Munich 
at  the  close  of  the  year.  The  marriage  of  Eugene 
with  the  Princess  of  Bavaria  was  magnificently  cele- 
brated there ;  it  gave  both  the  emperor  and  empress 
the  utmost  satisfaction,  not  only  for  politic  reasons,  but 
because  their  mutual  attachment  gave  promise  of  do- 
mestic peace. 

All  that  Josephine  had  desired  was  now  accomplished. 
Her  fears  and  anxiety  as  to  the  emperor's  idea  of  di- 
vorce, were  forgotten  after  the  birth  of  a  son  to  Hor- 
tense,  now  Queen  of  Holland.  As  the  young  Napo- 
leon advanced  to  years  of  interesting  childhood,  he  so 
won  upon  his  uncle's  affections  that  Bonaparte  deter- 
mined to  make  h'im  heir  to  his  immense  dominions. 


JOSEPHINE.  257 


Josephine's  future  peace  depended  upon  his  life.  As 
though  to  mock  the  hopes  centered  in  the  young  prince, 
Death  marked  him  an  earlv  victim.  He  died  in  1807, 
while  Napoleon  was  engaged  in  the  brilliant  campaign 
of  Austerlitz.  Upon  hearing  the  tidings,  he  repeated 
ly  exclaimed,  "  To  whom  shall  I  leave  all  this  ?"  The 
event  afflicted  Josephine  with  a  double  grief.  She  not 
only  mourned  the  loss  of  a  favorite,  but  trembled  undei 
the  stroke  that  threatened  her  own  hapjiiness.  She 
knew  perfectly  well  that  the  powerful  conqueror  would 
not  hesitate  to  sacrifice  her,  if  she  impeded  his  limitless 
designs,  though  he  loved  her  with  all  the  devotion  of 
which  his  selfish  nature  was  capable. 

Nearly  a  vear  passed  before  Napoleon  made  known 
to  her  his  unalterable  decision,  but  that  year  was  full 
of  inexpressible  torture  to  Josephine.  A  private  pas- 
sage, terminated  by  a  small  door,  connected  their  apart- 
ments. At  this,  the  emperor  was  accustomed  to  knock 
when  he  desired  an  interview.  These  occasions,  when 
the  subject  of  divorce  was  discussed,  became  so  pain- 
ful to  Josephine  that  the  usual  summons  caused  violent 
palpitation  of  the  heart,  trembling  and  faintness.  She 
could  scarcely  support  herself,  while  hesitating  at  the 
door  to  gather  strength  and  courage  for  interviews  thai 
inflicted  almost  unendurable  anguish. 

The  final  decision  was  made  known  to  her,  May  30tli 
by  Napoleon  himself,  after  ordering  the  attendants  to 
withdraw.  Of  this  she  says,  "I  watched  in  the  chang- 
ing expression  of  his  countenance,  that  struggle  which 
was  in  his  soul.  At  length  his  features  settled  into  a 
stern  resolve.     I  saw  that  my  hour  was  come.     His 


258  JOSEPHINE. 


whole  frame  trembled ;  he  approached  and  I  felt  a 
shuddering  horror  come  over  me.  He  took  my  hand, 
placed  it  upon  his  heart,  gazed  upon  me  for  a  moment, 
then  pronounced  these  fearful  words :  '  Josephine ! 
my  excellent  Josephine !  thou  knowest  if  I  have  loved 
thee !  To  thee,  to  thee  alone,  do  I  owe  the  only  mo- 
ments of  happiness  which  I  have  enjoyed  in  this  woi'ld. 
Josephine,  my  destiny  overmasters  my  will.  My  dear- 
est affections  must  be  silent  before  the  interests  of 
France.'  '  Say  no  more,'  I  had  still  strength  to  reply, 
I  was  prepared  for  this,  but  the  blow  is  not  the  less 
mortal.'  More  I  could  not  utter.  I  became  unconscious 
of  everything,  and  on  returning  to  my  senses,  found  I 
had  been  carried  to  my  chamber." 

From  this  time  to  the  16th  of  December,  she  was 
obliged  to  appear  at  the  fetes  and  public  rejoicings,  in- 
cident to  the  anniversary  of  the  coronation,  with  a 
smiling  countenance  and  cheerful  demeanor,  while  be- 
neath it  all,  her  heart  was  breaking.  Her  decision  was 
not  formally  announced  to  the  public  till  the  16th  of 
December,  when  the  council  of  State  were  summoned 
to  appear  at  the  Tuilleries.  Napoleon's  family,  who 
secretly  exulted  at  the  event,  were  also  gathered  in  the 
i^rand  saloon.  A  chair,  in  front  of  which  stood  a  table 
with  writing  apparatus  of  gold,  was  placed  in  the  centre 
of  the  apartment.  At  a  little  distance  stood  Eugene 
with  compressed  lips  and  his  arms  folded  over  a  heart 
swelling  with  resentment  Josephine  entered  with  her 
usual  grace,  pale  but  calm,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  Hor- 
tense,  who  conducted  her  to  the  central  chair,  and  sta- 
tioned herself  behind  it,  weeping  bitterly,     The  em 


JOSEPHINE.  259 


press  sat  composedly,  with  her  head  leaning  on  her 
hand,  the  tears  coursing  silently  down  her  deathly- 
pale  cheek,  listening  to  the  reading  of  the  Act  that 
was  to  separate  her  forever  from  the  man  for  whom  she 
would  have  laid  down  her  life.  Napoleon  in  vain  en- 
deavored to  suppress  the  emotion  that  betrayed  itself 
in  the  violent  workings  of  his  countenance  ;  it  was  the 
wrenching  of  a  strong  affection  from  a  soul  that  was 
else  all  chaos  and  darkness  ;  it  was  the  obliteration  (;f 
a  guiding-star  that  had  led  him  to  the  topmost  pinnacle 
of  greatness,  and  without  whose  steady  radiance,  he 
must  blindly  oA!»erstep  his  narrow  foothold  and  plunge 
from  the  dizzy  height, 

A  solemn  stillness  rested  upon  the  assemblage  when 
the  reading  of  the  Act  ceased.  Even  the  Bonapai-te 
family  were  touched  with  Josephine's,  uncomplahiing 
sorrow.  She  pressed  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes  for 
an  instant,  then  rising,  took  the  oath  of  acceptance  in 
a  tremulous  voice,  resumed  her  seat,  and,  taking  the 
pen,  signed  the  document.  The  dreaded  ceremony 
finished,  she  immediately  retired,  accompanied  b}'- 
Hortense  and  Eugene,  who  fell  senseless  as  he  reached 
the  ante-chamber.  The  silent  witnessing  of  his  moth- 
er's suffering  was  too  much  for  him  to  endure ;  for  her 
sake  and  in  compliance  with  her  entreaties,  he  had  re- 
strained his  burning  resentment.  Josephine  burst  into 
an  uncontrollable  paroxysm  of  tears,  when  she  reached 
her  private  apartments,  sobbing  and  groaning  with  an 
anguish,  heart-rending  to  behold. 

Carriages  were  in  waiting  to  convey  her  to  Malmai- 
son.     While  preparations  were  making  for  her  depar- 


260  JOSEPHINE. 


ture,  Napoleon  came  to  bid  her  a  final  farewell.  Ab 
he  approached,  she  threw  herself  in  his  arms,  and  cling- 
ing to  him  with  a  tenderness  that  conveyed,  more  than 
words,  the  intensity  and  faithfalness  of  a  love  which 
nothing  could  tear  from  her  heart.  Overcome  by  her 
emotions,  she  fainted  and  was  placed  upon  a  couch, 
over  which  Napoleon  hung  with  unconcealed  anxiety 
and  pain,  tenderly  stroking  her  cold  face  and  himself 
applying  restoratives.  Eeturning  consciousness  brought 
her  more  frantic  grief,  when  she  perceived  the  emperor 
was  no  longer  near  her,  for  he  had  hastily  left  the 
apartment,  fearing  another  scene.  She  seized  the  hand 
of  an  ofi&cer  who  still  remained,  and  in  accents  of  wild 
sorrow,  entreated  him  to  tell  the  emperor  not  to  forget 
her.  No  one  could  restrain  tears  of  sympathy  for  the 
beloved  empress,  so  unjustly  thrust  from  the  affections 
of  an  adored  husband. 

She  was  accompanied  to  Malmaison  by  persons  of 
distinction,  who  continued  to  pay  court  to  her,  know- 
ing they  thus  best  secured  the  royal  favor,  though 
many  followed  her  from  pure  love  and  sympathy. 
She  still  retained  the  title  of  empress,  and  received  an 
ample  revenue  to  support  the  expenses  incident  to  her 
rank.  Malmaison  was  elegantly  furnished  and  embel- 
lished with  many  costly  articles  sent  her  by  Napoleon's 
orders.  She  here  held  her  court,  which  was  frequented 
by  the  savans  of  Paris  as  well  as  the  gay  and  beautiful 
Thus  Malmaison  once  more  became  the  scene  of  fetes, 
balls  and  splendid  entertainments.  These  gayeties 
could  not  divert  Josephine  from  her  one  great  sorrow. 
Every  object  in  that  lovely  retreat  where  their  earliest 


JOSEPHINE.  261 


days  of  ha})piness  had  been  spent,  reminded  her  of  what 
she  in  vain  tried  to  forget.  Her  tears  flowed  afresh  at 
the  sight  of  the  haunts  they  had  frequented  together ; 
the  flowers,  that  had  given  her  so  much  delight,  now 
only  recalled  painful  associations.  The  rooms  whicii 
had  been  exclusively  Napoleon's,  she  would  permit  no 
one  but  herself  to  enter,  retaining  every  article  pre 
cisely  as  he  had  left  it.  The  maps  he  had  studied,  the 
books  with  leaves  turned  down,  his  apparel  just  where 
he  had  flung  it  in  some  impatient  mood;  everything 
remained  undisturbed  and  sacred  to  her  own  eyes  al- 
ready inflamed  and  almost  sightless  with  continual 
weeping.  What  agonizing  remembrances  of  happines? 
she  must  have  endured  in  this  silent,  deserted  apart- 
ment !  What  abandonment  to  grief,  where  every  ob- 
ject recalled  the  loved  face  and  voice  of  one  lost  to  her 
forever,  and  where  no  curious  eyes  checked  her  tears  !* 

It  was  well  for  her  health  and  repose  that  she  finally 
determined  to  forsake  Malmaison  and  retire  to  the 
chateau  of  Navarre,  a  palace  that  had  lain  nearly  in 
ruins,  since  the  devastation  of  the  Revolution,  but 
which  was  charmingly  situated  in  the  midst  of  the  for- 
est of  Evreaux.  It  had  originally  been  celebrated  for 
its  spacious  park,  elegant  gardens,  lakes,  fountains, 
and  all  that  could  render  it  an  envied  possession.  The 
occupation  of  restoring  its  original  beauty,  of  giving 
employment  to  the  poor  peasantry  in  the  neighborhood, 
as  well  as  escaping  the  heartless  attentions  of  courtiers 
and  the  wearisome  gayeties  of  court,  was  a  beneficial, 
wise  change. 

Josephine  was  accompanied  thither  by  her  most  in- 


262  JOSEPHINE. 


timate,  valuable  friends,  and  a  few  young  ladies  whose 
guardian  she  became.  She  was  never  forsaken  how- 
ever by  the  world,  who  testified  the  sincerity  of  its  ad- 
miration by  visits  to  this  out-of-the-way  home  of-  the 
loved  empress.  Her  mornings  were  passed  in  com- 
pany with  the  ladies  of  her  suite,  engaged  in  some  use- 
ful work,  and  listening  at  the  same  time  to  one  who 
read  aloud.  The  afternoons  were  occupied  in  rides, 
walks,  or  visits  to  the  poor  who  were  constant  objects 
of  charity.  The  evenings  were  passed  in  the  saloons 
in  lively  conversation,  occasional  games  at  cards,  or 
listening  to  the  music  of  the  harp  and  piano  in  adjoin- 
ing apartments,  where  the  young  people  engaged  in 
dances  or  noisy  games,  which,  however  much  they  dis- 
turbed the  quiet  of  the  saloons,  Josephine  would  never 
allow  to  be  checked,  for  she  loved  to  see  all  around 
her  cheerful  and  happy,  even  while  her  own  heart  was 
too  sad  for  her  face  to  brighten  with  a  single  smile. 

The  news  of  the  emperor's  marriage  with  the  beau- 
tiful Maria  Louise  of  Austria,  was  a  new  pang  to  her 
already  lacerated  feelings.  She  could  not  conceal  her 
gri-ef  on  her  first  meeting  with  Napoleon,  after  the  event 
that  deprived  her  of  every  claim  upon  his  thoughts 
and  affections.  He  often  visited  her  and  evinced  the 
lingering  love  and  veneration  he  entertained  for  her 
admirable  character,  by  the  entire  confidence  with  which 
he  unfolded  all  his  plans  to  her.  A  correspondence, 
sustained  between  them,  was  her  greatest  pleasure.  ■ 

The  birth  of  a  son  at  St.  Cloud,  was  announced  to 
Josephine,  while  attending  a  dinner  given  by  the  pre- 
fect at  the  city  of  Evreaux.     With  no  feeling  of  jeal- 


JOSEPHINE.  263 


ousy  01  envy,  this  noble  woman  added  her  con- 
gratulations and  sincerely  rejoiced  with  all  France,  at 
the  accession  of  an  heir  to  the  throne.  The  only  re- 
gret she  expressed  was,  that  she  had  not  first  received 
the  intelhgence  from  Napoleon  himself.  When  at 
length  a  letter  arrived,  communicating  the  tidings,  she 
retired  to  read  it,  and  remained  in  seclusion  an  hour. 
When  she  returned  to  her  guests,  her  face  bore  evident 
traces  of  tears.  She  longed  to  behold  the  young 
prince — a  wish  which  Napoleon  granted  by  himself 
placing  the  child  in  her  arms,  but  which  would  have 
been  refused  by  Maria  Louise,  who  so  disliked  Jose- 
phine that  she  would  ride  miles  out  of  her  way,  rather 
than  pass  the  residence  of  her  rival  in  the  emperor's 
affections. 

Bonaparte  continued  to  confide  his  most  secret  plans 
to  Josephine.  When  he  imparted  to  her  his  designs 
upon  Russia,  she  used  her  utmost  persuasion  to  induce 
him  to  abandon  the  wild  project,  in  which  she  dimly 
foresaw  his  ruin.  During  that  frightful  campaign  their 
correspondence  was  continued  without  interruption. 
"  His  letters  to  her,  were  more  frequent  and  more  af- 
fectionate than  ever,  while  hers,  written  by  every  op- 
portunity, were  perused  under  all  circumstances  with 
a  promptitude  which  clearly  showed  the  pleasure  or 
the  consolation  that  was  expected  ;  in  fact  it  was  ob- 
served that  letters  from  Malmaison  or  Navarre  were 
always  torn,  rather  than  broken  open,  and  were  in- 
stantly read,  whatever  else  might  be  retarded." 

The  news  of  his  disasters  filled  Josephine  with  fear- 
ful apprehensions,  more  especially  as  the  French  had 


264  JOSEPHINE. 


lost  the  blind  enthusiasm  with  which  they  formerlj 
worshipped  their  hero,  and  were  as  readj^  to  heap  an- 
athemas upon  his  name,  as  they  had  before  been  eager 
to  find  superlatives  with  which  to  praise  him.  He  re- 
turned to  France  with  the  shattered  remains  of  his 
brilliant  army,  unwilling  to  believe  her  people  would 
dare  to  conspire  against  the  bold  conqueror  who  chal- 
lenged all  the  world  to  battle.  Neither  his  self-confi- 
dence nor  his  giant  grasp  could  retain  the  crown,  lost 
in  his  vain  reachings  after  another.  It  was  too  lato 
now  to  retrace  his  steps.  In  a  short  and  painful  inter- 
view with  Josephine,  he  acknowledged  that  he  might 
still  have  been  emperor  of  France,  had  he  regarded  hei 
faithful  entreaties.  This  was  the  last  time  she  ever  be- 
held him. 

The  revolution  that  soon  succeeded,  alarmed  her  for 
his  fate.  Could  she  have  flown  to  him  when  deserted 
by  Maria  Louise,  her  grief  would  have  been  assuaged 
in  imparting  hope  and  consolation  in  his  reverses,  but 
she  was  obliged  to  wait  in  patient  retirement,  widely 
separated  from  him,  the  issue  of  events  that  threaten- 
ed his  fi'eedom  if  not  his  life.  Her  own  future  was  a 
secondary  matter.  She  scarcely  knew  what  to  expect 
from  the  allied  sovereigns.  "They  will  respect  her 
who  was  the  wife  of  Napoleon,"  said  she,  and  with 
truth,  though  the  honor  and  deference  paid  her  was 
not  because  of  her  rank,  nor  because  her  fame  had 
been  closely  associated  with  the  fearful,  hated,  yet 
strangely  glorious  name  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte; — it 
^as  due  alone  to  the  world-wide  admiration  of  her  no- 
ble, generous,  exalted  character. 


JOSEPHINE.  265 


A  message  from  the  allied  sovereigns,  expressed  a 
desire  to  visit  her  id  Malmaison,  with  which  she  imme- 
diately complied,  for  the  sake  of  her  children,  whose 
honors  and  titles  had  vanished  with  the  emperor's 
'.lownfall.  On  arriving  at  her  beloved  home,  she  was 
deeply  ajffected  to  find  a  guard  of  honor  had  been 
stationed  there  to  protect  her  property  from  the  pillage 
and  destruction  involved  in  a  revolution,  like  the  dev- 
astation that  marks  the  track  of  a  whirlwind. 

Josephine  was  here  visited  by  the  Emperor  Alexan- 
der, with  whom  she  plead  for  Napoleon.  It  was  greatly 
owing  to  her  influence  and  eloquence,  and  a  regard 
for  her  devoted  attachment  for  Napoleon,  that  severe 
measures  were  not  taken  to  crush  or  effectually  pinion 
his  ambitious  spirit.  Josephine  was  comparatively 
happy  when  it  was  at  last  announced  to  her  that  he 
was  to  possess,  in  full  sovereignty,  the  principality  of 
the  Island  of  Elba,  an  envied  fate  in  contrast  to  the 
one  she  had  feared.  Upon  his  departure  with  the  i'ew 
who  were  still  devoted  to  him,  she  wrote  a  most  affec- 
tionate and  touching  letter,  and  would  have  followed 
him  but  for  the  delicacy  of  supplanting  his  rightful 
v/-ife. 

Malmaison  was  again  thronged  with  the  great  and  gay, 
who  came  now,  not  with  empty  flattery,  but  to  assure  the 
empress  of  the  most  profound  esteem.  The  Emperor 
Alexander  on  meeting  her,  expressed  his  gratification 
thus :  "  Madame,  I  burned  with  the  desire  to  behold 
you.  Since  I  entered  France,  I  have  never  heard 
your  name  pronounced  but  with  benedictions.  In  the" 
cottage  and  in  the  palace,  I  liave  collected  accounts  of 


266  JOSEPHINE, 


your  goodness,  and  I  do  myself  a  pleasure  in  thus 
presenting  to  your  majesty  the  universal  homage  of 
which  I  am  the  bearer." 

She  was  also  visited  by  the  King  of  Prussia.  Louis, 
the  occupant  of  the  throne  of  France,  conferred  flatter- 
ing distinctions  upon  Eugene,  and  would  have  made 
him  marshal  of  France  had  his  pride  permitted  him  to 
accept  the  honor.  Hor tense  was  also  received  with 
marked  favo7 . 

These  monarchs,  besides  the  m.ost  distinguished  per- 
sons in  Europe,  frequently  visited  and  dined  at  Mal- 
maison,  where  Josephine  gracefully  did  the  honors. 
On  the  last  occasion.  May  19th,  when  a  grand  dinner 
was  given  to  the  allied  sovereigns,  she  became  too  ill 
to  remain  with  her  guests.  She  left  her  duties  with 
Hortense  to  perform,  obliged  at  length  to  yield  to  a 
disease  that  for  some  time  she  had  endeavored  to  keep 
at  bay.  A  malignant  form  of  quinzy  had  fastened 
upon  her,  and,  despite  the  exertion  of  the  most  skillful 
physicians,  it  made  rapid  and  alarming  progress.  She 
articulated  with  much  dif&culty.  She  expressed  affec- 
tion for  her  children,  who  remained  constantly  at  her 
bedside,  by  grateful  and  tender  looks,  often  smiling 
upon  them,  while  enduring  the  severest  pain,  endeavor- 
ing to  calm  their  agitation  and  lessen  their  anxiety. 
A  few  days,  however,  so  changed  the  beloved  counte- 
nance of  their  mother,  that  no  hopes  were  entertained 
for  her  recovery. 

She,  herself,  quickly  recognized  the  hand  of  death. 
In  her  last  moments,  her  thoughts  wandered  far  away 
to   Elba,  longing   for   the   presence  of  one  whom   not 


JOSEPHINE.  267 


even  the  near  approach  of  eternity  could  drive  from 
her  heart.  A  portrait  of  Napoleon  hung  near,  which 
she  motioned  to  be  brought  to  her  and  placed  where 
she  could  gaze  upon  it,  as  if  to  number  him,  who  had 
forsaken  her,  among  the  weeping  ones  gathered  about 
her.  Hortense  and  Eugene  knelt  at  the  bedside,  over- 
come with  grief,  and  sobbing  painfully  Avhile  they  re- 
ceived her  last  blessing.  At  this  moment  the  Emperor 
Alexander,  who  visited  her  daily,  entered  and  was 
gratefully  recognized  by  Josephine.  She  summoned 
all  her  remaining  strength,  to  say  in  a  faint  whisper, 
"  I  shall  die  regretted.  I  have  always  desired  the 
happiness  of  France ;  I  did  all  in  my  power  to  con- 
tribute to  it ;  I  can  say  with  truth,  that  the  first  wife 
of  iSTapoleou  never  caused  a  tear  to  flow." 

She  died  May  29th,  1814,  mourned  as  she  had  said, 
not  only  by  the  French  nation,  but  by  all  Europe. 
Princes  testified  their  remembrance  of  her  noble  and 
eminent  goodness,  by  following  her  remains  to  the 
simple,  little  church  at  Kouel.  which  was  covered  with 
black  drapery  on  the  occasion  of  her  funeral.  "  No 
ornament  or  inscription  decorated  the  walls,  but  the 
tears  of  the  proudest  sovereigns  of  Europe,  mingled 
with  those  of  the  poor  of  France,  to  pronounce  the 
funeral  oration  of  the  good  Josephine."  Her  remains 
were  afterwards  placed  in  a  beautiful  tomb  of  white 
marble,  upon  which  the  empress  is  represented  in  a 
kneeling  posture,  as  if  praying  for  France.  It  gives 
no  recital  of  her  virtues,  no  enumeration  of  her  titles ; 
the  monument  only  bears  the  simple,  touching  inscrip- 
tion— "  Eugene  and  Hortense  to  Josephine.''' 


268  JOSEPHINE. 


Though  crowned  an  empress,  she  never  lost  the 
sweetness  and  simplicity  of  character  that  belonged 
to  her  lively  girlhood,  in  the  quiet  at  Martinique. 
Early  disappointments  and  afflictions,  so  far  from  em- 
bittering her  nature,  served  to  chasten  and  fortify  her 
spirit  for  the  gentle  endurance  of  sterner  griefs.  Great 
in  prosperity,  she  was  greater  in  adversity.  She  is  an 
example  of  humane  sympathy,  of  calm  reason,  of  lofty 
magnanimity,  thorough  integrity  and  unfaltering  devo- 
tion to  the  objects  of  her  affection.  She  was  one  of  the 
countless  instances  of  womanly  tenderness  repeatedly 
sacrificed  to  worldly  schemes  of  the  base  and  crafty  ; 
and  she  is  an  illustrious  evidence  of  the  higher  policy 
of  a  frank  and  straight-forward  rectitude.  Hers  was 
that  simple  wisdom  of  a  true  heart  which  transcends 
the  most  dazzling  genius  of  man.  And  as  one  of 
earth's  true  souls,  she  will  enlist  the  warm  admiration 
of  all  who  have  an  earnestness  akin  to  hers,  so  long  as 
ihe  world  endures. 


ELIZABETH  OF  ENGLAND. 


'', 


5    1    ■> 


7  y  3 


>  »  3  >  5 


J    3   3    5  i 

>  J  a  >  5 

5  >   >  3 


^J^y^^^^e-^y/zy  0 


^ 


^li^ahtlj  of  (Bnglanl 

"  O,  she  has  an  iron  will, 
An  axe-like  edge  unturnable,  our  Head, 
The  Princess." — Tennyson. 

"  Here  vanity  asBumes  her  pert  grimace." — GoLDSiUXii 

Elizabeth  of  England  is  a  heroine  of  history,  not  as 
a  crowned  and  vain  woman,  but  as  one  who,  in  early  life, 
captivated  all  hearts  by  her  youthful  graces  and  ac- 
quirements, sustained  many  trials  with  fortitude,  and 
escaped  repeated  dangers  by  her  precocious  sagacity  and 
self-command.  To  her  own  wisdom,  more  than  to  any 
other  mortal  means,  she  owed  her  preservation,  her 
popularity  and  firm  establishment  on  the  throne  of 
England.  Her  subsequent  course  presents  little  to  be 
admired.  Lord  Bacon  has  been  called  the  "wisest, 
brightest,  meanest  of  mankind."  Elizabeth,  in  whose 
reign  Bacon  flourished,  may  be  called  the  "  wisest, 
brightest  and  meanest"  of  women,  if  her  reputation 
for  extraordinary  intellect  is  to  be  trusted  as  readily  as 
the  evidences  of  her  odious  character. 

That  she  wan  shrewd,  learned  and  eoergetic.  cannot 


272  ELIZABETH  OF   ENGLAND. 


be  doubted  ;  but  it  is  hard  to  decide  how  far  auy  loiler 
should  be  credited  with  measures,  in  the  suggesting  or 
perfecting  of  which  the  wisest  counsellors  of  a  nation 
always  participate.  If  the  truth  were  fully  known, 
many  monarchs  and  presidents  would  lose  the  praise 
of  glorious  acts,  and,  to  some  degree,  the  blame  of 
wrongs  and  follies  into  which  they  were  entrapped. 
Elizabeth  had  the  discernment  to  select  able  men  as 
her  advisers  and  agents,  and  the  constancy  to  retain 
them  in  office  during  her  long  administration.  She 
was  fortunate  in  ascending  the  throne  when  the  inven- 
tion of  Printing,  the  discovery  of  America,  and  the 
Reformation,  had  just  aroused  human  intellect  to  new 
life,  and  produced  y.j-eat  men  in  every  department  of 
literature  and  enterprise. 

Bacon,  Shakspeare,  Spenser,  Raleigh,  Sydney  and 
Drake,  and  other  names  of  like  lustre,  made  the  Eliza- 
bethan age  glorious,  not  the  selfish  woman  from  whom 
the  period  borrows  its  title.  Her  favorites,  not  her- 
self, were  the  patrons  of  genius.  In  her  life-time  Eng- 
land entered  on  its  present  career  of  national  grandeur, 
and  achieved  the  peaceful  and  magnificent  triumphs 
of  art  and  commerce ;  but  other  motives  actuated  her 
than  enlarged  and  generous  ones.  She  established  the 
Reformation  and  founded  the  English  church ;  but  it 
was  due  to  her  resentment,  rather  than  to  ?ny  enlight- 
ened and  free  spirit.  Like  the  heroine  of  a  novel,  she 
gave  her  period  a  name,  and  had  the  most  prominent 
position  in  its  scenes ;  the  subordinate  characters  were 
the  real  heroes.  She  was  an  eagle,  as  one  who  most 
visibly  hovered  over  the  sunri§e  of   modern  inteUi- 


ELIZABETH    OF   KNQLAND.  273 


gence;  but  in  remorseless  spirit,  as  in  lean-necked  ug- 
liness, she  was  a  vulture  ;  and  in  absurd  vanity,  as  in 
the  full-sailed  finery  of  her  ludicrous  dress,  she  was  a 
peacock. 

She  was  born,  September  7th,  1533,  at  Greenwich 
palace,  a  little  below  London,  on  the  Thames — now  the 
site  of  the  Greenwich  Hospital  for  disabled  or  super- 
annuated men  of  the  British  navy.  The  royal  birth 
occurred  in  a  room  called  the  Chamber  of  Virgins ; 
and,  as  further  coincidences,  it  is  noticed  by  a  supersti- 
tious writer  of  the  time,  that  she  was  born  on  the  eve  of 
the  Virgin  Mary's  nativity,  and  died  on  the  eve  of  her 
Annunciation.  A  solemn  Te  Deuni  celebrated  her  ad- 
vent. Her  mother  was  Anne  Boleyn,  second  wife  of 
Henry  VIII,  and  famous  for  her  beauty  and  cruel 
death.  King  Henry — '' the  bluff  King  Harry" — was, 
in  some  respects,  the  fit  father  of  Elizabeth.  He  had 
six  wives,  four  of  whom  were  either  divorced  or  be- 
headed, to  make  way  for  their  successors.  He  was  a 
man  of  corpulent  person,  brave,  frank  and  susceptible 
of  strong,  transient  attachments,  but  prodigal,  capri- 
cious, rapacious,  and  overbearing  in  spirit.  He  once 
threatened  a  leading  member  of  parliament  with  the 
loss  of  his  head,  if  he  did  not  secure  the  passage  of  a 
certain  bill.  His  reign  was  a  scene  of  bloodshed,  and 
nearly  all  crimes  are  imputed  to  him.  He  divorced 
his  first  queen,  Catharine  of  Aragon,  mother  of  the  one 
called  Bloody  Mary,  to  make  room  for  Anne  Boleyn  ; 
and,  when  Elizabeth  was  in  her  third  year,  he  brought 
Anne  to  the  block,  by  an  unsupported  charge  of  se- 
cret amours,  in  order  that  he  might  marry  Jane  Sey 
18 


274  ELIZA  BET  M    OF    ENGLAND. 


mour,  mother  of  Edward  VI.,  and,  like  her  predeces- 
sor, first  a  maid  of  honor  in  the  royal  household. 

The  christening  of  Elizabeth,  on  the  fouith  day  of 
her  life,  was  very  gorgeous.  The  lord  mayor  and  civic 
authorities  of  London,  together  with  a  great  array  of 
nobility,  were  pi'esent  at  Greenwich,  to  assist  at  the 
ceremonial,  which  took  place  at  the  neighboring  church 
of  Grey  Friars,  whereof  no  stone  is  now  left.  The  pro- 
cession marched  from  the  palace,  in  the  inverse  order 
of  rank,  citizens  and  esquires  proceeding  first;  after 
,  them  went  the  aldermen,  and  then  lords  and  ladies,  car- 
rying gilt-covered  basins,  wax  ta,pers,  salt,  and  the 
jewelled  chrisom — a  cloih  to  be  laid  on  the  child's 
face ;  and  finally  the  babe  in  the  arms  of  her  great- 
grandmother,  beneath  a  canopy  upheld  by  noblemen. 
The  infant  was  robed  in  purple  velvet,  with  an  ermined 
train  born  by  earls  and  countesses.  A  crowd  of  bish- 
ops and  abbots  received  the  precious  charge  at  the 
church-door,  and  the  celebrated  Cranmer  acted  as  god- 
father. After  the  baptism,  a  king-at-arms  loudly  in- 
voked a  blessing  on  "  the  high  and  mighty  princess  of 
England,  Elizabeth."  A  flourish  of  trumpets  followed, 
the  child  was  confirmed,  and  the  sponsors  presented 
her  with  gifts  of  golden  cups  and  bowls,  rich  with 
gems.  Thus  was  the  royal  babe  initiated  into  the 
church  of  Him  who  taught  a  gospel  of  lowliness  and 
simplicity  ;  and  thus  was  the  symbol  of  purification  ap- 
plied with  all  pomp  of  pride. 

Elizabeth's  state  governess  was  the  duchess-dowa- 
ger of  Norfolk ;  her  governess  in  ordinary  was  lady 
Margaret  Bryan,  who  had  sustained  that  ofilce  to  the 


ELIZABETH    OF    ENGLAND.  275 


princess  Mary  also;  and  a  mansion  and  costly  furni- 
ture, together  with  eleven  attendants,  were  appointed 
for  her  infantile  years.  King  Henry  would  not  en- 
dun^  a  child's  presence  at  Greenwich;  therefore,  when- 
she  was  three  months  old,  an  order  of  council  was  is- 
sued, with  all  the  solemn  folly  that  attends  royalty,  tr 
this  eifect :  "  The  king's  highness  hath  appointed  that 
the  lady  Princess  Elizabeth  shall  be  taken  from  hence 
towards  Hatfield  upon  Wednesday  next  week  ;  that  on 
Wednesday  night  she  is  to  lie  and  repose  at  the  house 
of  the  Earl  of  Rutland  at  Enfield,  and  the  next  day  to 
be  conve3'ed  to  Hatfield,  and  there  to  remain  with  such 
household  as  the  king's  highness  hath  established  for 
the  same."  In  a  few  weeks,  parliament  acknowledged 
her  heiress-presumptive  to  the  crown,  on  certain  condi- 
tions, and  disowned  her  half-sister  Mary.  Then  she 
was  removed  to  the  palace  of  the  bishop  of  Winchester, 
at  Chelsea.  At  a  proper  age,  and  after  a  profound  de- 
liberation of  the  great  ministers  of  state  on  the  subject 
she  was  weaned  ;  the  official  letter  authorizing  this  scf 
rioas  step,  states  that  "the  king's  grace,  well  consider- 
ing the  letter  directed  to  you  from  my  lady  Brain  and 
other  ray  lady  princess'  officers,  his  grace,  with  the  as- 
sent of  the  queen's  grace,  hath  fully  determined  the 
weaning  of  my  lady  princess  to  be  done  with  all  dili- 
gence." The  king  built  a  palace  at  Chelsea,  where, 
until  recently,  a  nursery,  bath-house,  and  aged  mulber- 
ry-tree, were  known  as  Elizabeth's. 

According  to  the  custom  of  bargaining  away  royal 
nearts  and  hands  even  from  the  cradle,  it  was  now 
time  to  provide  the  infant  with  a  future  husband.     A 


276  ELIZA  BKTH   OF   EX^GLAND. 


negotiation  was  commenced  with  Francis  T.  of  France, 
for  her  marriage  with  his  third  son,  the  Duke  of  An- 
gouleme,  but  the  conditions  proposed  by  the  English 
court  were  so  exacting,  that  the  affair  was  broken  off 
and  all  further  schemes  respecting  her  were  arrested  b_y 
the  execution  of  her  mother  and  the  act  of  parliament 
by  which  she  herself  was  declared  illegitimate  and  in- 
competent ever  to  receive  the  crown.  She  was  conse- 
quently so  neglected  by  the  court  that  not  even  the 
means  for  her  comfortable  support  were  furnished  to 
her  governess,  who  at  last  wrote  a  lengthy  petition  to 
"  my  lord  Privy  Seal,"  in  which  she  says  that  Eliza- 
beth "hath  neither  gown  nor  kirtle  nor  petticoat,  nor 
no  manner  of  linen — nor  forsmocks,  nor  kerchiefs,  nor 
rails,  nor  body-stitchets,  nor  handkerchiefs,  nor  sleeves, 
nor  mufflers,  nor  biggins,"  She  adds,  alluding  to  the 
child's  slow  teething,  "  I  trust  to  God  an'  her  teeth 
were  well  graft,  to  have  her  grace  after  another  fashion 
than  she  is  yet,  so  as  I  trust  the  king's  grace  shall  have 
great  comfort  in  her  grace.  For  she  is  as  toward  a 
child  and  as  gentle  of  conditions,  as  ever  I  knew  any 
in  my  life."  This  governess  was  judicious  and  faith- 
ful, and  her  commendable  course  as  well  as  the  simple 
manner  of  life  led  by  the  young  princess,  doubtless 
contributed  much  to  the  strong  qualities  afterwards  dis- 
played by  the  latter. 

Her  first  appearance  in  scenes  of  court,  was  at  the 
christening  of  her  half-brother,  Edward  YL  •  she  was 
then  four  years  old,  and  carried  the  chrisom  at  the 
ceremony,  marching  with  infant  gravity  in  the  proces- 
sion, while  the  long  train  of  her  robe  was  borne  bv 


ELIZABETH   OF   ENGLAND.  277 


Lady  Eerbert,  a  sister  of  the  woman  who  became  the 
last  wife  of  King  Henry.  As  a  great  favor  to  her,  she 
was  made  a  companion  of  the  young  heir;  the  two  be- 
came much  attached  to  each  other;  and,  on  his  second 
birth-day,  when  she  was  six  years  old,  she  gave  him  a 
cambric  shirt  worked  by  herself.  Her  precocious  in- 
telHgence  and  propriety  of  demeanor,  won  the  good 
opinion  of  all  visitors  and  associates — even  that  of  her 
jealous  sister  Mary.  Both  Elizabeth  and  Edward  were 
fond  of  study,  so  much  so  that  "  as  soon  as  it  was  light 
they  called  for  their  books;"  their  first  morning  hours 
were  devoted  to  the  Scriptures  and  religious  exercises ; 
after  these  came  lessons  in  languages  and  science,  and 
then,  while  her  brother  played  in  the  open  air,  the 
princess  resorted  to  her  lute,  viol,  or  needle-work. 

When  her  father  was  married  to  Anne  of  Cleves,  his 
fourth  wife,  Elizabeth  desired  to  see  the  new  queen, 
and  wrote  her  a  letter,  remarkable  for  its  good  sense 
and  as  being  her  first  known  attempt  of  the  kind. 
Anne  was  delighted  with  her  sprightly  and  fair  step- 
daughter, returned  her  young  affection,  and,  when  her- 
self divorced,  requested  that  she  might  sometimes  see 
the  child,  declaring  that  "  to  have  had  that  young  prin- 
cess for  her  daughter  would  have  been  greater  happi- 
ness to  her  than  being  queen."  Her  successor,  the 
lovely  Katherine  Howard,  fifth  wife  of  Henry,  and 
cousin  of  Anne  Boleyn,  was  equally  pleased  with  Eliz- 
abeth, placing  her  opposite  at  table  and  giving  her  a 
position  nearest  herself  on  great  occasions;  but  it  is 
noticeable  that  the  flattering  caresses  of  so  beautiful  a 
woman  could  not  win  away  the  child's  preference  for 


278  ELIZABETH   OF   ENGLAND. 


Anne  of  Cleves,  so  early  developed  was  the  character- 
istic constancy  of  disposition  which  was  ever  one  of 
the  few  mitigating  traits  of  the  relentless  Maiden 
Queen.  Katherine  Howard,  however,  deserved  this 
invi.dious  treatment;  she  proved  to  be  anything  but 
virtuous;  and,  after  her  decapitation,  the  princess  lived 
for  the  most  part  with  Mary,  at  Havering  Bower. 

In  her  eleventh  year,  the  king  offered  her  to  the  son 
of  Arran,  a  Scottish  earl,  in  order  to  gain  the  earl's  in- 
fluence in  favor  of  a  contract  of  niarriaij;e  between  the 
infant  Queen  of  Scots  and  young  Edward  of  England. 
Arran  did  not  improve  the  offer,  nor,  fortunately  for 
Elizabeth,  were  any  similar  schemes  successful ;  instead 
of  being  sent  to  be  educated  in  foreign  courts,  like 
Mary  Stuart,  in  fulfilment  of  such  contracts,  she  was 
happier  in  enjoying  the  care  of  her  fathers  sixth 
queen,  the  worthy  and  cultivated  Katherine  Parr,  who 
had  always  appreciated  her  mind  and  manners,  and 
now  gave  her  a  room  near  her  own  in  the  palace  of 
Whitehall. 

For  a  child  of  ten  or  twelve  years  old,  she  certainly 
had  made  wonderful  advances  in  knowledge;  with 
great  ease,  she  had  mastered  the  rudiments  of  all  the 
sciences;  slie  wrote  and  spoke  French,  Italian,  Span- 
ish, and  Flemish,  and  was  familiar  with  history,  to 
which  she  set  apart  three  hours  every  day,  as  if  with  a 
secret  design  already  to  prepare  herself  for  public  life. 
Her  penmanship  was  very  perfect;  there  was  a  voi- 
ame  in  the  Whitehall  library,  written  by  her  in 
French,  on  vellum ;  and  in  the  British  Museum  is  a 
dmall  devotional  volume  of  extracts  from  various  Ian- 


ELIZABKTII    OF    ENGLAND,  279 


guages,  selected  bj  Katlierine  Parr,  and  translated  and 
penned  by  Elizabeth,  when  twelve  years  of  age; — the 
initials  of  the  queen  and  of  the  Saviour  were  by  her 
hand  worked  in  blue  and  silver  thread,  on  the  cover. 
These  acquirements  and  accomplishments,  with  hei 
graceful  behavior,  sparkling  wit,  and  the  kind  of 
beauty  that  belongs  to  all  childhood,  gained  her  many 
admirers.  Had  her  destiny  been  the  private,  domestic 
circle,  she  might  have  been  generally  beloved  through 
life,  and  perhaps  have  left  a  name  in  the  annals  of  in- 
tellect. But,  as  she  grew  older,  her  proud  station 
changed  her  stabilit}'  to  wilfulness,  her  high  spirit  to 
violent  temper,  her  ambition  to  vanity ;  and  her  maiden 
life  made  the  "  vinous  fermentation  of  youth  turn  to 
the  acetous"  vinegar  of  malign  envy  and  jealousy. 

For  a  time  before  her  father's  death,  Elizabeth  hved 
at  Hatfield  House,  in  the  town  of  that  name ;  and  the 
hedges  of  her  garden  there  are  still  cut  in  the  form  of 
arches,  as  when  she  sported  among  them ;  there,  too, 
her  cradle  is  exhibited.  From  this  place  she  was  taken 
to  Entield,  where,  in  her  fourteenth  year,  the  death  of 
her  father,  Henry  VIII.,  was  announced  to  her  and 
her  brother  Edward,  who  both  wept  bitterly  at  their 
afiliction.  ''  Never,"  in  the  charming  words  of  an  old 
writer,  "  was  sorrow  more  sweetly  set  forth,  their  faces 
seeming  rather  to  beautify  their  sorrow  than  their  sor- 
row to  cloud  the  beauty  of  their  faces."  Edward  was 
ten  years  old,  and  the  splendor  of  his  coronation  could 
not  divert  his  grief  at  losing  the  company  of  his  sweet- 
est sister,  as  he  called  her. 

According  to  her  father's  will,  and  by  an  Act  of 


280  ELIZABETH   OF   ENGLAND. 


Parliament  rescinding  a  former  one,  Elizabeth  was  to 
succeed  to  the  throne,  if  neither  Edward  nor  Mary  left 
heirs.  Her  income  was  the  same  as  her  sister's — over 
fifty  thousand  dollars  a  year,  so  that  she  was  enabled 
to  Hve  in  magnificence  befitting  the  sister  of  the  king. 
It  was  about  this  time  that  the  lord  high  admiral,  Sey- 
mour, made  a  bold  attempt  to  engage  for  himself  the 
affections  and  the  hand  of  Elizabeth,  of  whom  he  had 
the  charge,  in  connection  with  his  wife,  who  had  been 
the  last  wife  of  King  Henry.  He  was  uncle  to  Ed- 
ward, and  was  an  immoral  and  unscrupulous  man, 
though  accomplished  and  handsome.  He  had  married 
the  widow  of  Henry  with  an  unbecoming  haste,  and 
before  his  marriage  had  made  some  advances  to  Eliza- 
beth which  she  firmly  rejected.  A  year  passed  by ; 
he  still  continued  his  very  familiar  attentions  to  her; 
his  wife,  the  queen-dowager,  noticed  it,  and  sent  the 
young  princess  away;  and,  soon  after,  Seymour  was 
in  mourning  for  his  wife,  whom  it  was  suspected  he 
poisoned. 

Immediately,  he  renewed  his  addresses  to  Elizabeth ; 
he  took  care  to  find  out  the  value  of  her  estates ;  and 
he  gained  over  to  his  interests  Mrs.  Ashley,  her  gov- 
erness, and  Parry,  her  treasurer.  A  girl  of  fifteen,  it 
is  not  wonderful  that  she  was  pleased  with  a  daring, 
agreeable  man,  who,  the  year  before,  had  romped  with 
her  and  caressed  her.  Now,  though  he  was  twenty 
years  her  senior,  she  gave  him  her  first,  ready,  tender 
love  ;  having  no  competent  adviser  in  all  her  princely 
household  of  one  hundred  and  twenty  servants,  and 
yielding  to  the  persuasions  of  Mrs.  Ashley  and  Parry, 


ELIZABETH   OF   ENGLAND.  2^1 


she  met  her  wily  lover  at  various  times  and  places,  by 
stealth.  Yet  sbe  seems  to  have  acted  with  remarkable 
prudence  at  these  imprudent  meetings,  as  in  all  her 
communications  with  him.  She  assured  him  that  she 
would  marry  him,  if  he  gained  the  consent  of  the 
royal  council,  over  which  Seymour's  brother,  the  Duke 
of  Somerset,  ruled  with  kingly  power,  as  protector 
during  Edward's  minority. 

But  rumors  of  the  secret  courtship  were  already 
afloat.  The  brothers  Seymour  and  Somerset  were  both 
exceedingly  ambitious  and  jealous  of  each  other ;  both 
anned  at  royal  authority,  and  the  former  had  got  him- 
self appointed  lord  admiral  in  the  absence  of  the  latter, 
and  had  lately  boasted  of  his  concealed  power.  Sey- 
mour was  soon  arrested  on  the  charge  of  high  treason, 
and  after  the  show  of  a  trial,  was  beheaded  in  the 
Tower  of  London.  Parry  and  Mrs.  Ashley  had  given 
evidence  against  him,  but  had  exculpated  Elizabeth. 
She  herself  was  very  strictly  examined,  but  neither 
artful  falsehoods  nor  terror  could  induce  her  to  impli- 
cate any  one.  At  so  early  an  age,  she  was  a  match  for 
the  subtle  persons  who  were  sent  to  sound  the  depths 
of  her  heart. 

The  tragical  event  made  a  powerful  impression  on 
her,  and,  all  things  considered,  it  must  have  had  an 
unfavorable  effect  on  her  character.  The  execution  of 
her  mother  and  her  own  first  winning  lover,  the  dis- 
grace heaped  upon  their  memories  and  herself,  the 
neglects  shown  her  through  all  her  youth,  her  friend- 
less condition  and  the  appointment  of  a  new  and  strict 
governess,  must  altogether  have  exasperated  her  strong 


282  ELIZABETH   OF   ENGLAND. 


and  princely  will  and  embittered  her  feelings.  The 
child,  the  youth,  if  not  the  after  tyrannical  woman, 
has  many  claims' to  admiring  sympathy. 

The  common  reports  concerning  her,  at  this  time, 
were  of  the  most  scandalous  sort.  That  she  gave  some 
occasion  for  misrepresentation  was  probable  at  her  pe- 
riod of  life,  and  is  rendered  plausible  by  the  f\ct  that 
Mrs.  Ashley  is  known  to  have  deceived  the  servant  of 
Sir  Henry  Parker,  sent  to  inquire  into  the  facts,  and 
that  she  and  Parry  were  promoted  to  high  ofiices  by 
Queen  Elizabeth,  during  all  her  reign,  as  if  she  would 
keep  them  silent  on  some  points  of  the  affair.  At  all 
events,  the  young  princess  displayed  singular  tact  and 
talent  in  the  whole  course  of  it,  and  was  schooled  in 
such  trials  for  the  profound  craftiness  of  her  career. 
When  Seymour's  fate  was  announced  to  her,  she  be- 
trayed no  emotion  to  the  spies  who  watched  her  fea- 
tures, and  only  said,  "  This  day  died  a  man,  with  much 
wit  ai>d  very  little  judgment." 

Her  effort  henceforth  was  to  recover  that  popularity 
which  was  the  object  of  her  life-long  pursuit.  She  be- 
came very  grave  and  studious,  and  devoted  herself, 
among  other  things,  to  the  theological  questions  w^hich 
were  then  generally  agitated.  To  the  learned  William 
Grindal  succeeded  the  learned  Eoger  Ascham,  as  her 
tutor.  He  had  before  written  to  her  governess  in 
these,  curious  words,  after  the  style  of  the  time:  "Gen 
tie  Mrs.  Ashley,  would  God  my  wit  wist  what  words 
would  express  the  thanks  you  have  deserved  of  all  true 
English  hearts,  for  that  noble  imp  (Elizabeth)  by  your 
labor  and  wisdom  now  flourishing  in  all  goodly  godli- 


ELIZABETH   OF   ENGLAND.  283 


Qess."  Now,  he  undertook  to  perfect  her  in  the  clas- 
sics. As  t)  her  personal  decoration,  at  this  time,  he 
writes,  in  a  Latin  letter  to  a  friend,  that  •'  she  greatly 
prefers  a  simple  elegance,  to  show  and  splendor,  so 
despising  the  outward  adorning  of  plaiting  of  the  hair 
and  wearing  of  gold,  that  in  the  whole  manner  of  her 
life  she  rather  resembles  Hippolyta  than  Phcedra." 
Little  did  the  good  man  imagine  that,  at  her  death,  her 
wardrobe  would  contain  three  thousand  costly  dresses 
and  eighty  wigs  of  various  colors. 

Her  household  expenses  were  already  on  a  grand 
scale,  befitting  the  blood-royal ;  large  sums  were  paid 
to  musicians,  theatrical  companies,  and  for  her  servant's 
velvet  liveries,  and  for  her  stock  of  choice  wines,  prize 
oxen  for  her  table,  anil  walnut  lurniture  for  her  palace. 
But  she  affected  extreme  simplicity  of  dress,  knowing 
that  her  youthful  charms  were  best  unadorned,  and  de- 
siring to  ingratiate  herself  with  the  triumphant  Protes- 
tant party,  who  opposed  the  claims  of  her  sister  Mary, 
a  Catholic. 

On  the  6th  of  July,  1553,  Bang  Edward  died  of  con- 
sumption, sixteen  years  of  age,  Elizabeth  being  twenty 
and  Mary  thirty-six.  Somerset  had  met  the  fate  of  his 
brother,  and  had  been  superseded  by  Dudley,  Duke  of 
Northumberland,  who  had  persecuted  Mary  on  account 
of  her  faith,  and,  when  Edward's  health  failed  and 
Mary  was  likely  to  assume  the  sceptre,  was  alarmed  at 
the  ruin  ready  to  fall  on  his  head.  He  resolved  both 
to  save  and  further  advance  himself  by  a  bold  step. 

The  Lady  Jane  Grey,  sixteen  years  old,  and  of  mar- 
vellous le.aruing,  beauty  and  loveliness  of  character,  was, 


284  ELIZABETH   OF    KNGLAND. 


like  Marj  Queen  of  Scots,  a  grand-daughter  of  a  sister 
of  Henry  VIII.,  the  father  of  Mary,  EHzabeth  and  Ed- 
ward. By  Henry's  will,  she  was  next  heir  to  the  crown 
after  his  ov/'n  children.  Dudley  therefore  effected  a 
marriage  between  Jane  Grey  and  a  handsome,  promis- 
ing son  of  his  own ;  then,  appealing  to  the  religious 
convictions  of  the  dying  Edward,  procured  his  legacy 
"of  the  crown  to  her,  and  concealed  his  death  for  a  while, 
in  order  to  get  the  sisters  into  his  power.  In  this  he 
failed,  but  forthwith  prevailed  on  Jane  Grey,  against 
her  will,  to  be  crowned.  She  acted  the  part  of  queen 
but  nine  days ;  Dudley's  forces  did  not  rally  in  suffi- 
cient strength ;  the  nation,  apparently  from  a  sturd_y 
sense  of  honesty,  flocked  to  the  standard  of  Mary,  who 
soon  entered  London  in  triumph.  The  duke,  with 
many  adherents  of  the  quasi  queen,  suffered  under  the 
axe  ;  and,  three  months  afterward,  poor  Lady  Jane  and 
her  young  husband  met  the  same  fate  in  that  Tower  of 
London  which  still  stands,  a  mute  and  sullen  witness 
to  the  heroic  death  of  many  noble  victims. 

Elizabeth's  conduct,  during  these  exciting  events, 
was  marked  by  her  rare  caution  and  sagacity.  When 
deceitfully  summoned  to  Edward's  bedside  by  Dudley, 
she  remained  at  home,  being  warned  by  friends  per- 
haps, and  even  feigned  illness,  as  it  is  asserted,  that  she 
might  not  be  mixed  up  with  Dudley's  scheme,  while, 
on  the  other  hand,  Mary  was  nearly  entrapped.  Be- 
fore this  sickness,  she  gave  the  conspirators  a  shrewd 
and  brave  excuse  for  not  signing  away  her  title  to  the 
throne,  namely,  that  she  had  none  during  the  life  of 
her   elder   sister.     Her   defenceless   situation  and  the 


ELIZABKIII    OF    ENGLAND.  285 


Reeming  success  of  Lady  Jane's  party,  evinced  her 
courage  in  this.  And  when  Mary  victoriously  ad- 
vanced towards  London,  Elizabeth  forgot  her  illness, 
and  hastened  to  meet  and  pay  homage  to  her  sistei-, 
with  an  armed  retinue  of  two  thousand  horsemen, 
whose  leaders  were  dressed  in  green,  faced  with  velvet, 
satin  and  taffeta.  Learning  that  Mary  had  already  dis 
missed  her  useless  army,  she  next  day  met  her  with  an 
unarmed  cavalcade  of  a  thousand  persons,  many  of 
whom  were  ladies  of  rank.  They  were  kindly  receiv- 
ed, and  when  the  sisters  entered  the  city,  they  rode  side 
by  side  on  horseback,  Mary's  small,  faded  form  and  re- 
served demeanor  poorly  contrasting  with  the  fresh 
youthfulness,  tall,  erect  person,  graceful  airs  and  care- 
fully shown,  delicate  hands  of  Elizabeth,  who  then  as 
ever  craved  applause  and  made  the  most  of  her  attrac- 
tions. 

Mary,  though  styled  the  Bloody,  was  an  unostenta- 
tious, sincere  woman  of  excellent  intentions.  Her  mix- 
ture of  Spanish  and  Tudor  blood  gave  her  much  latent 
pride  and  resolution,  and  she  was  embittered  by  her 
mother's  and  her  own  wrongs.  But  her  heart  was  sus- 
ceptible of  the  tenderest  affection ;  she  was  generous 
to  her  sister  under  trying  circumstances,  and  would 
have  been  humane  in  her  administration  but  for  her 
intolerant  creed,  the  sanguinary  zeal  of  her  advisers, 
the  dangers  of  her  position  and  the  spirit  of  the  age. 

Unfortunately,  differences  soon  sprang  up  between 
her  and  Elizabeth,  and  were  fomented  by  the  friends 
and  ambition  of  cacb,  or  by  the  enemies  of  both.  The 
younger  sister  was  the  hope  and  boast  of  the  Protes- 


286  ELIZABKTH    OF   ENGLAND. 


taut  party,  and,  for  the  sake  of  their  phmdits  as  well 
as  ill  consequence  of  her  own  education,  she  refused 
the  queen's  summons  to  attend  Romish  mass,  and  re- 
sisted all  her  persuasions  and  threats,  until,  finding 
tliat  she  was  endangering  her  safety  and  prospects,  she 
sought  an  interview  with  Mary,  threw  herself  at  her 
feet,  and  expressed  a  willingness  to  be  convinced  of 
her  errors,  if  they  were  such.  In  various  ways,  she  so 
pursued  a  double  course  that  the  queen  for  a  while 
gave  her  the  place  of  highest  honor  on  all  occasions. 
In  the  grand  pageant  of  the  coronation,  Elizabeth  wore 
a  "French  dress  of  white  and  silver  tissue,"  and  rode 
in  "a  chariot  drawn  by  six  horses,  trapped  also  with 
gold  and  silver,  which  followed  innnediately  after  the 
gold-canopied  litter  in  which  the  sovereign  was  borne.'" 
But  when  parliament  passed  an  act  which  so  afl&rmed 
the  legitimacy  of  Mary  as  unavoidably  to  imply  the 
contrary  concerning  herself,  she  resented  it  by  an  eflbrt 
to  withdraw  from  court.  At  this  juncture,  the  difficul- 
ties beset  her  which  formed  the  third  and  greatest  peril 
of  her  early  career.  Nothing  but  extraordinary  care 
and  good  fortune  saved  her  from  the  whirlpool  of  dan- 
gers into  which  she  was  now  drawn.  Her  rash  friends 
were  her  worst  enemies.  At  the  false  instigation  of 
her  mortal  foes,  they  formed  a  plot,  known  as  "Wyatt'3 
rebellion,  by  which  they  hoped  to  enthrone  Elizabeth, 
stop  the  Catholic  schemes  of  Mary,  and  prevent  her 
proposed  marriage  with  Philip  of  Spain.  Courtenay, 
Earl  of  Devonshire — a  prepossessing  yet  weak  man, 
and  kinsman  of  the  sisters — had  been  rejected  as  suitor 
to  Mary,  and  was  now  a  leader  in  the  plot,  and  resolved 


ELIZABETH    OF    ENGLAND.  287 


to  gain  Elizabeth.  The  King  of  France  was  busily 
seeking,  by  insincere  offers  of  aid,  to  promote  the  con- 
spiracy, and  inflame  both  parties  in  England  against 
each  other,  in  order  that  he  might  set  his  daugbter-in- 
law,  Mary  of  Scotland— another  claimant— on  the  Eng- 
lish throne.  The  emperor  Charles  V.,  of  Spain,  was  a 
still  more  deadly  enemy  of  Elizabeth,  because  her  pre- 
tensions endangered  the  plans  for  his  son  Philip,  and 
because  her  mother  had  supplanted  Catherine  of  Arra 
gon,  in  the  days  of  King  Henry. 

Thus  was  the  future  Virgin  Queen  beset  by  various 
powerful  foes,  and  by  mistaken  supporters  who  vainly 
tried  every  means  to  involve  her  in  the  plot.  Eumor? 
of  it  reached  Mary,  who  was  persuaded  to  require  Eliz 
abeth's  acceptance  of  the  Prince  of  Piedmont,  that  the 
mouths  of  the  Protestants  might  thus  be  shut  in  regard 
to  her  own  alliance  with  Philip.  The  undaunted  girl 
steadily  resisted  this,  even  in  the  face  of  not  improba- 
ble death  by  the  axe,  for  she  was  already  accused  and 
suspected,  and  her  retirement  from  court,  to  avoid  in- 
dio-nities  and  vexations,  was  construed  against  her  loy- 
alty.  Letters  from  the  rebels  and  the  French  to  her 
were  intercepted,  and  the  odium  of  these  unsought 
tamperings  fell  on  her.  The  King  of  France  offered 
her  unlimited  assistance,  or,  if  she  preferred,  engaged 
to  give  her  a  refuge  in  his  dominions — a  refuge  which 
would  have  proved  a  virtual  imprisonment  for  life. 

At  last  the  whole  plot  was  di.sclosed  to  the  royal 
council.  In  four  days  after,  Wyatt— a  knight,  in  the 
south-eastern  part  of  England— raised  thr  banner  of 
revolt,  and  marched  with   four  thousand  m^  n  towards 


288  ELIZABETH    OF    ENGLAND. 


London.  He  was  suffered  to  enter  the  city,  and,  find- 
ing no  expected  aid,  he  was  surrounded  and  yielded 
himself  up  in  despair.  The  other  leaders,  in  various 
parts  of  the  kingdom,  failed  to  support  his  movement, 
and  were  one  after  another  arrested,  among  them  Lady 
Jane  Grey's  father,  who,  in  common  with  her  and  sixty 
of  the  conspirators,  was  speedily  executed. 

It  was  a  critical  time  for  Elizabeth.  The  streets  of 
London  were  hideous  with  heads  of  victims,  exposed 
to  the  populace,  and  the  Tower  flowed  with  blood.  She 
was  summoned  to  the  court,  to  appear  before  avenging 
powers,  and  with  the  fate  of  her  mother  and  many  of 
her  friends  in  vivid  recollection.  She  delayed  on  the 
score  of  sickness,  which,  whether  the  result  of  agita- 
tion of  mind  or  merely  physical  causes,  was  not  feigned 
entirely,  though  doubtless  she  made  the  most  of  it,  in 
order  to  gam  time.  At  length,  she  was  brought  to  the 
city.  As  she  entered  it,  her  lofty  spirit  rose  superior 
to  her  bodily  weakness  and  the  terrific  scenes  around 
her.  Gibbets  were  to  be  seen  everywhere,  and  that 
morning  the  Lady  Jane's  fether  had  perished,  follow- 
ing to  the  block  his  lately  sacrificed  and  lovely  daugh- 
ter. But  Ehzabeth  ordered  her  litter  to  be  uncovered, 
and  gazed  with  scornful  dignity  on  the  crowd  that 
pitied,  but  dared  not  rescue  her.  She  was  dressed  in 
white,  emblematic  of  her  innocence,  and  a  hundred 
gentlemen  in  velvet  coats  formed  her  guard  of  honor, 
followed  by  a  hundred  others  in  the  royal  livery  of 
fine  red  cloth,  faced  with  black  velvet.  Thus  was  she 
escorted  to  the  palace  of  Whitehall,  and  there  closely 
aruarded. 


ELIZABETH   OF    E?fGLAND.  289 


For  three  weeks  her  fate  was  discussed  in  the  coun- 
cil, while  she  remained  in  torturing  doubt  of  the  result. 
There  was  every  cowardly  temptation  for  the  traitors 
to  criminate  her  in  order  to  shield  themselves,  or  rec- 
ommend themselves  to  mercy.  Wyatt  did  so,  but, 
finding  it  of  no  avail  to  mitigate  his  sentence,  confessed 
on  the  scaffold  the  falsity  of  his  charges.  The  other 
prisoners  for  the  most  part  acted  with  more  honor  than 
could  have  been  anticipated.  No  positive  evidence 
could  be  found  against  her,  and  the  queen,  against  the 
urgent  advice  of  her  chief  statesmen,  firmly  opposed 
the  immolation  of  her  sister  on  insufficient  proof 

But  Queen  Mary  was  to  attend  a  meeting  of  parlia- 
ment at  Oxford ;  she  had  to  dispose  of  Elizabeth  in 
some  safe  way,  and  so  she  oi'dered  her  to  the  Tower. 
This  command  was  received  with  natural  dismay.  Eliza- 
beth wrote  an  admirable  letter  to  the  queen,  pleading 
against  her  supposed  fate  in  strong  simple  language, 
uttered  with  too  much  heartfelt  anxiety,  to  admit  of  her 
usual  pedantic  and  finical  amplification.  She  took  care 
to  occup}^  so  much  time  in  writing  it  that  the  tide  of 
the  Thames  ebbed,  and  the  barge,  that  was  to  convey 
her,  could  not  pass  the  London  Bridge.  The  next 
tide  was  at  midnight,  and  it  was  not  thought  safe  to 
attempt  her  removal  at  an  hour  when  her  friends  might 
take  advantage  of  the  darkness  to  rescue  her.  On  the 
morrow  she  was  put  aboard  the  boat ;  the  tide  not 
being  fully  up,  she  was  nearly  wrecked  in  the  stream 
while  passing  the  bridge ;  she  reached  the  Tower  in  a 
rain  storm,  angrilv  dashed  away  an  offered  cloak,  re- 
sisted the  attempt  to  lead  her  through  what  was  called 
19 


290  ELIZABETH   OF   ENGLAND. 


the  "  traitor's  gate,"  and,  when  she  landed,  exclaimed, 
"  Here  lands  as  true  a  subject,  being  prisoner,  as  ever 
landed  at  these  stairs.  Before  thee,  0  Grod,  I  speak  it, 
having  no  other  friend  but  thee  alone!"  She  seated 
herself  on  a  stone,  in  the  pelting  rain,  and  when  urged 
not  to  endanger  her  health  thus,  she  replied,  "  Better 
sit  here  than  in  a  worse  place."  She  rebuked  some  of 
her  attendants  for  weeping,  and  was  conducted  into 
her  prison. 

The  high-born  captive  remained  two  months  in  the 
Tower.  She  and  her  servants  were  subjected  to  the 
severest  examination  by  the  council,  one  member  of 
her  household  being  even  put  to  torture  to  exiract 
some  evidence  against  her.  It  would  appear  that  she 
had  held  some  cautious  conference  with  accomplices  of 
the  rebellion,  perhaps  that  she  might  ascertain  the  de- 
signs of  Jane  Grrej's  party,  who  were  engaged  in  the 
affair,  professedly  to  favor  Elizabeth.  But  Mary  was 
too  conscientious  and  faithful  to  the  tender  ties  of  blood, 
to  permit  her  prisoner's  murder  without  good  proof  of 
treasonable  intent.  Moreover,  at  one  of  the  examina- 
tions Lord  Arundel,  one  of  her  most  influential  and 
furious  opposers,  was  suddenly  convinced  of  the  in- 
justice done  her;  he  nobly  and  impulsively  expressed 
his  sympathy;  and  Elizabeth,  with  her  usual  cunning 
and  something  of  her  subsequent  coquetry,  began  to 
flatter  him  in  such  a  way  that  he  warmly  espoused  her 
cause,  and  henceforth  began  to  entertain  hopes  that  he 
might  win  her  hand  for  himself  or  for  his  son. 

Still  she  suffered  much  rigorous  usage.    English  pray- 
grs  and  Protestant  forms  were  forbidden  to  her  anO 


ELIZABETH   OF   ENGLAND.  291 


licr  ladies,  two  of  whom  were  taken  away  on  account 
of  tlieir  resistance  to  this  tyranny.  Her  place  of  close 
confinement  is  said  to  have  been  directly  beneath  the 
alarm-bell  of  the  castle,  so  that  her  keepers  might  ring 
it  readily,  to  arouse  the  city  in  case  of  any  attempt  to 
deliver  the  princess.  The  handsome  Courtenay,  for 
whom  it  is  still  supposed  she  had  some  liking,  was  in- 
carcerated near  her,  probably  to  tempt  thein  to  some 
communication  which  might  be  used  against  them. 
But  her  conduct  is  represented  by  her  fellow-prisoners 
as  calm  and  brave;  whether  it  was  to  win  flivor  or 
not,  they  spoke  of  her  "  sweet  words  and  sweeter 
deeds,"  in  consoling  them. 

By  degrees  her  privileges  were  increased.  She 
bribed  the  chamberlain  to  remit  his  officious  inter- 
ference with  the  provisions  of  her  table,  by  giving  him 
a  bountiful  portion  of  them.  Her  health  began  to  fail, 
and  she  was  allowed  to  walk  through  a  splendid  suit 
of  apartments,  known  as  tlie  "  queen's  lodgings,"  the 
Tower  being  sometimes  used  as  a  refuge  for  royalty,  as 
well  as  a  prison.  In  these  walks  she  was  accompanied 
by  a  guard,  and  the  windows  were  blinded  that  she 
might  not  look  out.  But  her  need  of  air  procured  her 
the  liberty  of  a  small  garden  within  the  walls ;  while 
pacing  there,  the  captives  were  not  permitted  to  gaze 
at  her  from  their  windows,  lest  some  mutual  under- 
standing or  plot  might  be  contrived.  Her  constraint 
was  relieved,  however,  by  the  winning  acts  of  several 
children  of  the  officers.  These  incidents  are  memora- 
bly beautiful.  One  infant  girl  brought  her  some  little 
keys,  while  she  was  in  the  garden,  and  told  her  that 


292  ELIZABETH   OF    ENGLAND. 


"  she  need  not  stay  there,  but  might  unlock  the  gates." 
Another  child,  a  bov  of  four  years,  daily  offered  her 
flowers,  and  received  trifling  presents  in  return ;  this 
caused  suspicion  in  the  prying  magnates  of  the  place, 
who  questioned  the  child,  but  could  neither  frighten 
nor  coax  him  into  any  confession  that  he  was  employed 
to  carry  messages  to  and  from  the  princess.  He  piti- 
fully said  to  her,  through  the  key-hole  of  her  door, 
*'  Mistress,  I  can  bring  you  no  more  flowers  now."  She 
was  delighted  with  these  little  angels  of  consolation, 
and  ever  after  seem  pleased  with  children,  for  their  sake. 

Among  the  many  distinguished  persons  under  arrest 
in  the  Tower,  was  Lord  Robert  Dudley,  committed  for 
aiding  his  father,  Dudley  Duke  of  Northumberland, 
in  the  plot  previous  to  the  last-mentioned  one.  He 
was  born  in  the  same  hour  with  Elizabeth,  had  been  a 
playfellow  with  her  in  her  childhood,  and  was  after- 
wards her  chief  favorite,  and  made  by  her  the  Earl  of 
Leicester.  He  was  on  service  abroad  after  leaving  the 
Tower  and  until  her  accession  to  the  throne,  when  he 
was  immediately  promoted  and  showered  with  favors. 
It  is  thought  that  he  held  a  correspondence  with  her 
at  the  time  of  their  imprisonment,  by  means  of  the  boy 
who  brought  the  flowers,  inasmuch  as  they  had  no 
other  opportunity  of  intercourse  for  a  long  time.  Some 
hypothesis  is  apparently  needed  to  explain  her  sudden 
partiality  to  one  who  had  long  opposed  her  interests ; 
but  their  early  companionship,  his  qualities,  and  her 
policy  or  susceptibility,  may  account  for  it  all. 

The  climax  of  Elizabeth's  danger  soon  came.  It 
was  a  narrow  escape  from  violent  death,  and  illustrates 


ELIZABETH    OF   ENGLAND.  293 


the  truth  everywhere  suggested  by  the  pages  of  history, 
namely,  that  the  course  of  human  events  is  daily 
changed,  or  nearly  changed,  by  slight  circumstances. 
The  artful  Gardiner,  chief  Minister  of  State  to  Mary, 
had  been  gained  over  to  the  Spanish  interest,  and  had 
persistently  sought  the  princess'  death.  The  queen 
was  taken  ill ;  alarmed,  probably,  at  his  own  fate  if 
Elizabeth  mounted  the  throne,  he  sent  a  privy  council 
order  to  the  Tower  for  her  instant  execution.  The 
lieutenant  of  the  Tower  observed  that  the  queen's  sig- 
nature was  not  appended  to  the  warrant,  and  had  the 
good  sense  to  send  a  messenger  to  her,  inquiring  her 
will.  Had  he  been  more  swayed  by  the  influence  of 
Gardiner,  he  might  have  thought  the  sovereign  too  ill 
to  sign  a  document  approved  by  her  and  legally  drawn  ; 
Elizabeth  might  have  perished,  leaving  a  sadly  roman- 
tic fame  only  second  to  Lady  Jane  Grey's  ;  and  Mary, 
Queen  of  Scots,  might  have  sat  on  the  English  throne, 
carried  out  the  designs  of  the  English  Mary  and  further 
established  Popery  in  a  land  where  no  strong  Scottish 
relish  for  endless  "  secessions"  would  have  hindered  the 
still  papistic  tendencies  of  a  nation  too  aristocratic  to 
care  for  other  than  a  formal  state  religion. 

The  queen  was  aroused  by  this  attempt  on  her  sis- 
ter's life.  She  sent  Sir  Henry  Bedingfeld,  an  honest 
and  fearless  man,  with  a  hundred  men  of  the  royal 
ti-uard,  to  take  command  of  the  Tower,  until  she  could 
transfer  the  princess  to  a  safer  place,  far  from  the  in- 
trigues of  court.  She  had  already  given  up  the  idea 
of  prosecuting  her  any  further,  and  had  begun  to  speak 
of  her  again  by  the  endearing  title  of  '*  sister."     She 


294  ELIZABETH   OF   ENGLAND. 


had  refused,  too,  a  Spanish  proposal  to  send  her  tn 
some  continental  court — an  event  that  would  have  led 
to  Elizabeth's  ruin.  At  length  it  was  resolved  to  re- 
move her,  in  the  custody  of  Bedingfeld,  to  Woodstock. 
a  royal  residence  fifty  miles  west  of  London. 

Elizabeth,  apprehending  that  any  hour  might  seal 
her  fate,  had  been  suddenly  frightened  at  the  first  com- 
ing of  Bedingfeld,  with  his  hundred  men  in  blue  uni- 
form. As  they  rode  into  the  castle,  she  turned  pale, 
and  hastily  asked  her  attendants  whether  Lady  Jane's 
scaffold  had  been  taken  away.  When  she  learned  that 
she  was  to  be  conducted  to  Woodstock,  her  terror  took 
a  new  form  ;  she  inquired  whether  the  knight  "were 
a  person  who  made  conscience  of  murder."  She  knew 
too  well  that  prisoners,  who  could  not  be  legally  execu- 
ted, were  sometimes  exposed  on  the  highways  to  a  con- 
certed attack.  But  her  fears  were  allayed  by  the  repu- 
tation of  her  staunch  new  keeper.  She  went  by  boat 
to  Richmond,  near  London.  There  the  queen  was  so- 
journing with  her  court,  and  with  her  she  had  an  in- 
terview which  resulted  in  nothing  but  a  renewal  of  the 
former  effort  to  induce  Elizabeth  to  marry  Philibert, 
Prince  of  Piedmont,  and  most  intimate  friend  of  Philip 
of  Spain.  As  often  before,  she  asserted  her  determi- 
nation to  remain  single,  and,  to  intimidate  her  into  the 
measure,  her  servants  were  all  taken  from  her !  Thi;^ 
deed  again  made  her  anxious  for  her  life  ;  "  this  night 
[  think  I  must  die,"  she  said ;  her  servants  wept,  as 
they  left  her,  as  if  they  had  looked  upon  her  for  the 
last  time  ;  but  Lord  Tame,  one  of  her  guards,  assured 
her  that  he  would  protect  her. 


ELIZABETH   OF   ENGLAND.  295 


When  she  was  about  to  cross  the  Thames  the  next 
morning,  her  servants  came  to  look  another  final  fare- 
well.    "Goto  them,"  she  said  to  a  gentleman,  "and 
tell  them  from  me  '  tanquam  ovis' — '  like  a  sheep'  to  the 
slaughter,  for  so  am  I  led."     No  one,  except  her  keep- 
ers, was  allowed  to  have  the  least  communication  with 
her.     Noailles,  the  detestable  French  ambassador,  who 
had  all  along  labored  to  destroy  her,  sent  to  her  a  pres- 
ent of  apples,  on  her  way — a  plan  to  cast  upon  her 
more  of  the  odium  of  French  friendship.     The  people 
of  England,  who  were  mostly  Protestant  and  admired 
her,  made  sincerer  demonstrations  of  sympathy.  Wher- 
ever she  passed,  they  crowded  near,  and  greeted  her 
with  prayers,  acclamations  and  tears,  though  rudely 
thrust  back  and  denounced  as  rebels  by  the  soldiers. 
In  some  of   the  villages,   a  joyful   peal  of  bells  an- 
nounced her  arrival;    but  Bedingfeld,  who  was  both 
her  honest  protector  and  suspicious  master,  silenced 
the  bells  and  put  the  ringers  in  the  stocks.     The  other 
guardian,  Lord  Tame,  was  bold  enough  to  cheer  her 
with  a  rich  feast  and  invited  company,  while  the  party 
rested  at  his  country-seat.    He  said,  "Let  what  would  be- 
fall, her  grace  should  be  merry  in  his  house" — so  much 
chivalry  and  noble  feeling  existed  even  in  those  bloody 
days.     At  this  entertainment,  she  was  not  permitted  to 
see  the  conclusion  of  a  game  of  chess,  lest  some  covert 
plan  of  delay  were  intended.     And,  while  continuing 
the  journey,  she  was,  for  the  same  reason,  forbidden  to 
take  shelter  from  a  severe  storm,  in  a  house  by  the 
wavside. 

At  the  palace  of  Woodstock,  she  was  uncomfortably 


296  ELIZABETH   OF   ENGLAN^. 


lodged  in  the  gate  house,  and  treated  with  much  harsh- 
ness. On  her  window  she  wrote  these  words  with  a 
diamond : 

"  Much  suspected — of  me 
Nothing  proved  can  be, 
Quoth  Ehzabeth,  prisoner." 

On  a  shutter,  with  a  bit  of  charcoal,  it  is  said  that 
she  inscribed  these  pathetic  lines,  composed  by  herself* 

"  Oh,  Fortune !  how  thy  restless,  wavering  state 
Hath  fraught  with  cares  my  troubled  wit. 

Witness  this  present  prison,  whitlier  fate 
Could  bear  me,  and  the  joys  I  quit. 

Thou  caus'dst  the  guilty  to  be  loosed 

From  bands  whei'ein  are  inn<jcents  enclosed, 

Causing  the  guiltless  to  be  strait  reserved, 

And  freeing  those  that  death  had  well  deserved, 

But  by  her  envy  can  be  nothing  wrought. 

So  God  send  to  my  foes  aU  they  have  wrought.    ■ 
Quoth  Elizabeth,  Prisoner." 

She  composed  "  elegant  Latin  verses"  to  the  same 
effect ;  and  she  wrote  the  following  amusing  yet  excel- 
lent thoughts,  on  the  fly-leaf  of  a  copy  of  Paul's  Epis- 
tles :  "  August. — I  walk  many  times  into  the  pleasant 
fields  of  the  Holy  Scriptures,  where  I  pluck  up  the 
goodlisome  herbs  of  sentences  by  pruning,  eat  them  by 
reading,  chew  them  by  musing,  and  lay  them  up  at 
length  in  the  high  seat  of  memorie,  by  gathering  them 
together,  that  so  having  tasted  their  sweetness  I  may 
less  perceive  the  bitterness  of  this  miserable  life,"  One 
day,  it  is  related,  she  saw  through  her  window  a  milk- 
maid in  the  park,  singing  as  she  milked ;  she  exclaim- 


ELIZABETH    OF    KNGLAND.  297 


ed,  "  That  milkmaid's  lot  is  better  than  mine,  and  her 
life  is  merrier," 

Sixty  soldiers  were  on  guard  around  her  apartments, 
all  day  and  night ;  and  well  were  they  needed.  The 
infamous  Gardiner  sent  one  Basset,  with  twenty-five 
ruffians  in  disguise,  to  assassinate  her.  But,  so  strict 
were  the  regulations  of  those  who  had  her  in  custody, 
Basset  could  get  no  access  to  his  intended  victim.  An 
incendiary,  also,  kindled  a  fire  directly  beneath  her 
room,  but  it  was  discovered  in  time  to  extinguish  it. 
The  fears  and  hopes  of  wily  politicians  and  the  zeal  of 
Catholic  priests,  were  arrayed  against  her ;  her  right  to 
live  was  denounced  from  their  pulpits.  As  a  matter 
of  policy,  she  outwardly  conformed  to  the  Romish  rites ; 
yet,  when  questioned  as  to  her  belief  in  transubstantia- 
tion — the  changing  of  bread  and  wine  into  the  actual 
flesh  and  blood  of  Christ,  at  the  Catholic  communion — 
she  made  a  famous  reply,  in  extempore  rhymes,  to 
which  no  person  could  object,  of  course : — 

"  Christ  was  the  word  that  spake  it, 
He  took  the  bread  and  brake  it, 
And  what  his  word  did  make  it, 
That  I  believe,  and  take  it." 

While  she  was  thus  inditing  poetry  at  Woodstock, 
or  suffering  severe  illness,  or  reading  and  meditating  in 
resignation,  weariness  or  bitterness,  as  she  paced  her 
room  and  the  adjacent  garden,  a  change  of  feehng  was 
taking  place  in  regard  to  her.  After  a  year  of  married 
life.  Queen  Mary  was  disappointed  in  her  hope  of  an 
heir,  and  therefore  looked  still  more  kindly  to  her  sis- 


298  ELIZABETH    OF    ENGLAND. 


ter  as  her  successor ;  and  Mary's  husband,  Philip  of 
Spain,  fearing  the  claims  of  the  Queen  of  Scots,  hating 
France,  desirous  to  gratify  the  English  people  and  per- 
haps with  an  eye  to  Elizabeth's  hand  himself,  as  he  in- 
deed sought  it  after  the  death  of  the  queen,  who  was 
now  in  declining  health, — with  such  motives  he  urged 
his  wife  to  invite  the  captive  princess  to  pass  Christmas 
at  court,  in  London. 

Arrived  at  Hampton  palace,  she  was  still  kept  in 
close  ward,  and  repeated  attempts  were  made  to  induce 
her  to  confess  some  kind  of  guilt,  in  order  that  she 
might  not  seem  to  have  been  imprisoned  without  just 
cause  ;  on  this  condition  she  was  promised  full  liberty. 
But  she  heroically  resisted  this  disgraceful  proposal, 
saying,  "  I  had  as  lief  be  in  prison,  with  honesty,  as  to 
be  abroad,  suspected  of  her  majesty  ;  that  which  I  have 
said  I  will  stand  to." 

After  a  week's  strict  confinement,  she  was  startled 
by  a  summons,  at  ten  o'clock  at  night,  to  appear  before 
the  queen.  This  was  at  least  the  fifth  time  in  her  cap- 
tivity when  immediate  preparations  seemed  to  be  mak- 
ing for  her  death.  She  begged  her  attendants  to 
"  pray  for  her,  for  she  could  not  tell  whether  she  would 
ever  see  them  again,"  and  was  conducted  by  the  light 
of  torches  to  the  queen's  apartment.  Philip,  ashamed 
to  confront  a  woman  at  whose  destruction  he  and  his 
country  had  so  long  aimed,  is  said  to  have  been  con- 
cealed behind  the  tapestry  of  the  room.  A  long  con- 
versation followed,  in  English  and  Spanish,  resulting 
in  a  fair  understanding  between  the  sisters.  Elizabeth 
received  a  ring  in  pledge  of  amity,  and  soon  after  was 


ELIZABETH   OF   ENGLA.ND.  299 


honored  as  next  in  station  to  tlv-  ([iieen,  at  the  showy 
festivities  of  the  holidays.  She  sat  at  the  queen's  table, 
and  was  served  by  her  late  enemy,  Lord  Paget. 

Her  brave  and  amiable  suitor,  Philibert,  Prince  of 
Piedmont,  was  present ;  but  she  avoided  his  attentions, 
having  perhaps  too  much  preference  for  Courtenay  or 
Dudley,  and  influenced  doubtless  by  the  wishes  of  her 
party  as  well  as  by  her  own  ambition  to  wield  an  undi- 
vided sceptre.  With  Philibert,  who  afterwards  married 
a  French  princess,  Margaret  of  Valois,  she  would  have 
passed  a  happier  life ;  but  the  event  would  have  been 
a  great  disaster  to  England  by  hindering  the  free  prin- 
ciples of  the  Reformation. 

Many  (^ther  distinguished  guests,  from  various  courts 
of  Europe,  were  gathered  at  this  time  to  attend  a  grand 
tournament  which  was  to  have  taken  place  the  year 
before,  in  honor  of  Mary's  marriage,  but  for  some 
reason  was  delayed.  Elizabeth  sat  beneath  the  royal 
canopy,  to  witness  the  jousting,  in  which  two  hundred 
lances  were  shivered,  the  knights  of  Spain  and  Flan- 
ders entering  the  lists  in  their  national  costumes.  At 
the  services  in  the  royal  chapel,  she  was  drest  in  "  robe 
of  rich  white  satin,  passamented  all  over  with  large 
pearls."  Her  appearance  is  described  by  the  Venetian 
ambassador  in  this  language :  "  Miladi  Elizabeth  is  a 
lady  of  great  elegance,  both  of  body  and  mind,  though 
her  face  may  be  called  pleasing  rather  than  beautiful 
She  is  tall  and  well  made,  her  complexion  tine,  though 
rather  sallow.  Her  eyes,  but  above  all,  her  hands, 
which  she  takes  care  not  to  conceal,  are  of  superior 
beauty.      She   is    proud    and    dignified    in    manners." 


300  ELIZABIOTU    OF    EXGLAND. 


Great  respect  was  shown  her  by  the  greatest  dignitaries 
of  the  reahn,  at  this  time.  King  and  cardinal,  when 
they  met  her,  sank  on  one  knee  and  kissed  her  hand. 
She  was  very  gracious  to  Phihp,  and  afterwards  boast- 
ed of  him  as  one  of  her  conquests. 

She  returned  to  Woodstock ;  her  servants  were  al- 
lowed to  accompany  her,  and  she  lived  in  comparative 
freedom.  Some  difficulty  indeed  arose  concerning  an 
astrologer,  John  Dee,  whom  she  entertained  on  account 
of  the  strange  interest  which  a  woman  of  her  education 
took  in  his  occult  science.  Persons  in  her  household 
were  accused  of  "practising  by  enchantment  against 
the  queen's  life."  Elizabeth  was  brought  back  to 
Hampton  palace,  but  Philip  so  befriended  her  that  she 
was  finally  suffered  to  return  to  her  own  chosen  home, 
Hatfield  House,  where  she  was  molested  no  further  than 
by  having  one  spy  under  her  roof  This  was  Sir 
Thomas  Pope,  a  learned  and  agreeable  man,  who  was 
"  recommended"  by  the  queen  as  a  person  who  would 
look  after  her  comfort — a  pleasant  way  of  installing 
him  as  her  guardian.  "  The  fetters  in  which  he  held 
her  were  more  like  flowery  wreaths  thrown  around  her 
to  attach  her  to  a  bower  of  royal  pleasance,  than  aught 
which  might  remind  her  of  stern  restraints;"  and  she 
was  well  satisfied  with  the  arrangement. 

Sir  Thomas  interested  her  in  his  plans  concerning 
Trinity  college,  which  he  had  just  founded  at  Oxford. 
In  return  for  her  goodness,  he  assisted  in  the  amuse- 
ments at  Hatfield  House.  One  of  these  scenes  is  thua 
described  by  a  chronicler  of  the  time :  "  At  Shrovetide, 
Sir  Thomas  Pope  made  for  the  lady  Elizabeth,  all  at 


ELIZABETH   OF   ENGLAND.  301 


his  own  cost,  a  grand  and  rich  masking  in  the  great 
hall  at  Hatfield,  where  the  pageants  were  marvellously 
furnished.  There  were  twelve  minstrels  antiquely  dis- 
guised, with  forty-six  or  more  gentlemen  or  ladies, 
many  knights,  nobles  and  ladies  of  honor,  apparelled 
in  crimson  satin,  embroidered  with  wreaths  of  gold, 
and  garnished  with  borders  of  hanging  pearl.  There 
was  the  device  of  a  castle,  of  cloth  of  gold,  set  with 
pomegranates  about  the  battlements,  with  shields  of 
knights  hanging  therefrom,  and  six  knights  in  rich 
harness  tourneyed.  At  night,  the  cupboard  in  the  hall 
was  of  twelve  stages,  mainly  furnished  with  garnish 
of  gold  and  silver  vessels,  and  a  banquet  of  seventy 
dishes,  and  after  a  void^  of  spices  and  subtleties,  with 
thirty  spice  plates,  all  at  the  charge  of  Sir  Thomas 
Pope ;  and  the  next  day,  the  play  of  Holofernes.  But 
the  queen,  "percase^  misliked  these  follies,  and  so  these 
disguisings  ceased."  Another  scene  is  recorded :  "  She 
was  escorted  from  Hatfield  to  Enfield  chase,  by  a  reti- 
nue of  twelve  ladies,  clothed  in  white  satin,  on  am- 
bling palfreys,  and  twenty  yeomen  in  green,  all  on 
horseback,  that  her  grace  might  hunt  the  hart.  At 
entering  the  chase  or  forest,  she  was  met  by  fifty  arch- 
ers in  scarlet  boots  and  yellow  caps,  armed  with  gilded 
bows ;  one  of  whom  presented  her  a  silver-headed  ar- 
row winged  with  peacock's  feathers.  Sir  Thomas 
Pope  had  the  devising  of  this  show.  At  the  close  of 
the  sport,  her  grace  was  gratified  with  the  privilege 
of  cutting  the  buck's  throat."  When  the  queen  visited 
her,  "  she  adorned  her  great  state-chamber  for  her 
majesty's  reception,  with  a  sumptuoas  suit  of  tapestry 


S02  ELIZABETH   OF   ENGLAND, 


representing  the  siege  of  Antioch  ;  after  supper  a  play 
was  performed  by  the  choir-boys  of  St.  Paul's ;  when 
it  was  over,  one  of  the  children  sang,  and  was  accom- 
panied on  the  virginals  by  no  meaner  masic'an  than 
the  Princess  Elizabeth  herself"  Such  were  the  mer- 
ry-makings in  the  olden  time. 

At  Hatfield,  her  grace  enjoyed  again  the  services  of 
Mrs.  Ashley  and  Parry,  who  were  so  convenient  to  her 
in  her  first  love  affair.  Roger  Ascham,  too,  resumed 
his  place  as  her  instructor,  though  she  was  now  twen- 
ty-three years  old,  and  so  versed  in  the  classics  that 
Ascham  confesses  he  could  teach  her  nothing  more, 
but  rather  her  "  modest  and  maidenly  looks  taught 
him" — a  modesty  that  her  Italian  master  calls  "  a  mar- 
vellous meek  stomach."  Her  meekness  must  have 
undergone  a  sudden  and  astonishing  change  before  she 
became  queen.  The  language  of  these  men  is  merely 
the  ordinary  flattery  of  those  promoted  to  places  near 
princes,  or  it  shows  a  finished  artfulness  in  the  future 
mistress  of  all  deception. 

At  this  time,  the  Archduke  of  Austria  was  expected 
at  London,  to  propose  for  her  hand.  There  was  no 
end  of  the  matches  arranged  for  her,  from  her  infancy 
until  long  after  her  coronation.  The  great  Gustavus 
Vasa  of  Sweden  offered  his  son,  but  the  union  was  de- 
clined. The  subject  of  Philibert's  addresses  was  re- 
peatedly introduced  and  always  with  resulting  ill-will; 
at  last  "  he  was  seen  making  love  from  his  window  to 
the  fair  Duchess  of  Lorraine,"  and  this  discovery  by 
Elizabeth  herself,  as  well  as  the  final  resolution  of  the 
queen,  terminated  the  vexatious  suit.     The  urgent  re- 


ELIZABETH   OF   ENGLAND.  303 


aewal  of  it  immediately  after  the  death  of  Courtenay, 
is  thought  to  argue  a  private  engagement  between  him 
and  the  princess.  How  far  her  heart  was  tried  with 
disappointment,  and  how  far  this  led  to  her  maiden 
resolutions,  can  never  be  known. 

In  various  ways  her  peace  was  constantly  disturbed 
and  her  temper  injured.  In  1556,  two  insurrections 
broke  out,  headed  by  adv<  ntur.ms  aspirants  for  her 
hand  and  a  share  in  her  expected  sovereignty.  The 
first  was  that  of  Sir  Henry  Dudley ;  two  of  her  officers 
were  implicated  in  it,  and  she  narrowly  escaped  suffer 
ing  by  their  treason.  The  next  revolt,  a  few  weeks 
after,  was  raised  by  an  impostor  who  passed  himself  off 
for  an  exiled  earl,  and  proclaimed  Elizabeth  queun  and 
himself  king  as  her  husband.  From  another  danger 
she  escaped  only  through  the  honesty  of  the  new 
French  ambassador.  Wearied  out  with  court  intrigues 
respecting  her,  she  twice  applied  to  him  to  secure  her 
safe  passage  to  France.  At  last  he  plainly  told  her 
that  if  she  ever  hoped  to  ascend  the  throne,  she  must 
never  leave  England. 

But  the  queen  was  prostrate  with  mortal  sickness  in 
November  1558,  and  Elizabeth's  anxieties  for  herself 
were  soon  to  cease.  Mary  bequeathed  her  crown  to 
her,  and  secured  some  kind  of  promise  that  she  would 
maintain  the  Catholic  religion;  in  fact,  she  observed 
the  ceremonies  of  that  cliurch  for  a  mouth  after  her 
sister's  death,  when  she  found  that  the  Protestants 
were  certainly  in  the  majority.  Mary  sent  her  the 
crown  jewels,  and  Philip  added  a  precious  casket ;  in 
gratitude  for  such  favors  Elizabeth  always  retained  hia 


804  ELIZABETH   OF   ENGLAND. 


portrait  in  "her  bed-chamber.  As  the  queen  failed  in 
strength,  the  courtiers,  as  usual  at  such  times,  forsook 
their  late  mistress  and  crowded  around  the  expectant 
successor  to  the  crown.  Yet  so  cautious  was  Elizabeth 
that  she  would  assume  no  airs  of  royalty,  until  she  was 
t'-ertified  of  the  queen's  death  by  private  means.  She 
iugaged  Sir  Nicholas  Throckmorton  to  procure  her 
majesty's  black  enamelled  ring  which  she  always  wore 
as  a  bridal  one,  so  soon  as  she  ceased  to  breathe,  and 
ride  with  it  to  her  at  his  utmost  speed.  This  he  com- 
memorates in  verse : 

"  She  said  (since  nought  exceedeth  woman's  fears, 

Who  still  dread  si)me  baits  of  subtlety,) 
'  Sir  Nicholas,  know  a  ring  my  sister  wears. 

Enamelled  black,  a  pledge  of  loyalty. 
The  which  the  King  of  Spain  in  spousals  gave, — 
If  aught  fall  out  amiss,  'tis  that  I  crave.'  " 

When  the  news  came,  she  knelt  and  repeated  in  Latin 
the  sacred  words: — "It  is  the  Lord's  doing,  it  is  mar- 
vellous in  our  eyes."  This  was  afterwards  engraved 
on  her  gold  plate,  and  another  text — "  I  have  chosen 
God  for  my  helper" — was  written,  likewise  in  Latin, 
on  her  silver  service. 

On  the  17th  day  of  November,  1558,  Mary  expired, 
and  Elizabeth  was  proclaimed  queen.  Great  trouble 
was  anticipated  in  consequence  of  the  distracted  state 
of  religious  parties,  a  nd  the  late  bloody  persecutions  by 
the  papists.  But  it  all  passed  off  peaceably.  The 
Catholic  lord  chancellor  nobly  secured  the  recognition 
of  Elizabeth  by  parliament.  The  people,  worn  out 
witli  tyranny,  and  terrified  by  a  pestilence  that  swept 


ELIZABETH   OF   ENGLAND.  3('5 


the  kingdom  and  strangely  attacked  many  high  eccle- 
siastics, hailed  the  new  sovereign  with  joy.  The  bells 
were  })ealed,  bonfires  lighted,  and  the  poor  were  pub- 
licly feasted  by  the  rich.  Queen  Elizabeth  appointed 
Cecil  her  Secretary  of  State,  and  retained  him  so  long 
as  he  lived ;  and  his  course  proved  the  true  policy  of 
her  choice. 

In  a  few  days,  she  took  her  journey  to  London,  fol- 
lowed by  a  splendid  procession  of  nobility  and  multi- 
tudes of  the  people,  who  had  often  before  enthusiasti- 
cally crowded  to  see  and  hail  her.  To  the  people  she 
ascribed  her  quiet  succession  to  the  sceptre.  On  her 
way  she  met  a  company  of  bishops,  and  offered  her 
hand  to  be  kissed  by  each,  excepting  Conner,  who  had 
become  notorious  for  his  cruelty  in  persecuting  non- 
conformists. As  she  approached  the  city  she  rode  in 
a  costly  chariot,  but  entered  the  streets  on  horseback. 
Her  dress  was  of  purple  velvet,  with  a  scarf  over  her 
shoulders;  and  Lord  Robert  Dudley,  her  henceforth 
chief  pet,  rode  next  to  her.  Before  her  were  borne  the 
sceptre  and  sword  of  state.  The  walls  of  the  city,  then 
existing,  were  hung  with  tapestry,  and  music  every- 
where resounded,  while  the  Tower  guns  were  continu- 
ally discharged.  At  various  points,  children  were  in 
waiting  to  welcome  her  with  songs  or  set  speeches. 
Nothing  escaped  her  eye ;  she  responded  to  every 
thing,  knowing  well  how  far  every  attention  goes  iL 
attaching  the  people  to  one  in  high  station.  It  was 
always  her  rule  to  gain  over  all  enemies,  and  lose  no 
friend.     Reaching  the  Tower,  she  went  directly  to  the 

rooms  where  she  had   been   imprisoned,  fell    on  her 
20 


30d  ELIZABETH   OF   ENGLAND. 


knees,  and  thanked  God,  comparing  herself  to  Daniel 
escaped  from  the  lion's  den.  A  few  days  after,  she 
removed  her  court  to  Somerset  palace. 

Her  first  care  was  to  ascertain,  by  shrewd  experi- 
ments, how  far  she  might  restore  the  independent 
church  and  government  of  her  father.  After  this,  on 
the  day  preceding  her  coronation,  she  made  a  proces- 
sion through  the  city.  "  The  lord  mayor  and  his 
city-companies,"  says  a  chronicler,  "met  her  on  the 
Thames  with  their  barges  decked  with  banners  of  their 
crafts  and  mysteries.  His  own  company,  the  mercer's, 
had  a  bachelor's  barge  and  an  attendant  foist,  with 
artillery  shooting  oif  lustily  as  they  went,  with  great  and 
pleasant  melody  of  instruments,  which  played  in  a 
sweet  and  heavenly  manner."  Landing  at  the  Tower, 
she  left  it  in  a  chariot  covered  with  crimson  velvet, 
and  overshadowed  with  a  canopy  borne  by  knights. 
One  who  was  in  the  procession,  records  that  "the 
queen  as  she  entered  the  city,  was  received  by  the 
people  with  prayers,  welcomings,  cries,  and  tender 
words,  and  all  signs  which  argue  an  earnest  love  of 
subjects  towards  their  sovereign ;  and  the  queen,  by 
holding  up  her  hands  and  glad  countenance  to  such  as 
stood  afar  off,  and  most  tender  language  to  those  that 
stood  nigh  her  grace,  showed  herself  no  less  thankful 
to  receive  the  people's  good-will  than  they  to  offer  it." 
Frequently  she  stopped  her  chariot  to  receive  gifts  of 
flowers  from  poor  women  in  the  concourse. 

At  the  upper  end  of  Grace-church-street,  beneath  a 
splendid  arch,  had  been  erected  a  stage,  in  three  stories. 
On  the  lowest  platform  were  effigies  of  the  queen's 


ELIZABETH   OF   ENGLAND.  307 


grandparents — Elizabeth  of  York  in  the  midst  of  a 
gigantic,  artificial  white  rose;  at  her  side  was  Henry 
VII.,  peeping  from  a  mammoth  red  rose,  and  holding 
his  consort  by  the  hand.  From  these  roses,  a  stem 
reached  to  the  next  higher  stage  where  the  queen's 
father  was  represented  in  the  centre  of  a  grand  red  and 
white  rose,  and  holding  Anne  Boleyn  by  the  hand. 
Another  branch  proceeded  from  this  to  the  highest 
platform,  where  Elizabeth  herself  was  counterfeited  on 
a  throne.  Thus  was  her  genealogy,  embracing  the 
houses  of  York  and  Lancaster,  very  ingeniously  set 
forth ;  and  thus  was  Anne  Boleyn  at  length  honored. 
Many  other  devices,  such  as  Father  Time,  the  Beati- 
tudes, Deborah,  etc.,  were  to  be  seen.  Through  all 
this  remarkable  display,  the  maiden  queen  acted  her 
part  with  consummate  address,  according  to  the  taste 
of  the  period.  In  later  times  it  would  have  been  re- 
garded as  ludicrously  theatrical  when  she  held  up 
hands  and  eyes  to  heaven,  while  certain  speeches  and 
songs  were  recited  to  her. 

At  her  coronation,  the  next  day,  she  was  duly  at- 
tired with  crimson  velvet,  ermine,  and  buttons,  cords 
and  tassels  of  gold.  The  usual  elaborate  ceremonies 
were  observed,  much  to  the  edification  of  all  concerned, 
if  we  except  the  anointing  with  oil  which  her  majesty 
so  much  disliked  that  she  retired  to  change  her  dress, 
remarking  to  her  maids  that  "the  oil  was  grease  and 
smelled  ill."  At  the  banquet  in  Westminster  hall, 
which  concluded  the  drama,  the  customary  champion 
rode  into  the  room,  in  complete  armor,  and  offered  to 
defend   against   all    gainsayers   the    "most   high   and 


SOS  ELIZABKTH   Oh'   ENGLAND. 


mighty  princess,  our  dread  sovereign,  Lady  Elizabetli, 
bj  the  grace  of  God,  Queen  of  England,  f 'ranee,  Ire- 
land, Defender  of  the  true,  ancient  and  catholic  faith, 
most  worthy  empress  from  the  Orcade  Isles  to  the 
M'juntaius  Pyrenee." 

Here  ends  the  truly  heroical  period  of  Elizabeth's 
life.  She  was  now  twenty-five  j^ears  of  age,  had 
bravely  and  discreetly  held  her  course  through  a  sea 
of  ^arly  troubles,  and  was  so  firmly  established  on 
the  throne  that  the  occasional  plots  of  malcontents 
could  not  seriously  affect  her  safety.  Her  long  career 
wan  one  of  eminent  worldly  wisdom,  but  a  wisdom 
that  was  confined  to  her  personal  interests  and  did  not, 
like  that  of  Maria  Theresa  .or  Isabella  of  Spain,  em- 
brace the  national  welfare.  The  unprecedented  pros- 
perity of  England  during  her  reign,  was  due  to  the 
peace  which  she  selfishly  maintained,  and  to  other 
causes  than  her  conduct.  Her  deceitful  and  cruel 
course  towards  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  belongs  properly 
to  the  history  of  the  latter ;  it  was  prompted  by  well- 
grounded  fears,  but  carried  to  the  pitch  of  despicable 
jealousy  and  unscrupulous  malignity.  This  and  the 
other  leading  events  of  Elizabeth's  administration,  un- 
like her  youthful  life,  are  too  well  known  to  require 
a  detailed  recital. 

As  a  rare  picture  of  "  good  Queen  Bess,"  in  her 
thirty-first  year,  we  have  the  account  of  a  conference 
with  her  enjoyed  by  Melville,  a  Scottish  ambassador. 
"  The  mornino-  after  his  arrival  in  London,  he  was  ad- 
mitted  to  an  audience  by  Elizabeth,  whom  he  found 
pacing  an   alley   in  her  garden.     The  lousiness   upon 


ELIZABETH    OF    EXHLAND.  809 


which  he  came  being  arranged  satisfactorily,  Melville 
was  fovorably  and  familiarly  treated  by  the  English 
queen.  He  remained  at  her  court  nearly  a  fortnight, 
and  conversed  with  her  majesty  every  day,  sometimes 
thrice  on  the  same  day.  Sir  James,  who  was  a  shrewd 
observer,  had  thus  an  opportunity  of  remarking  the 
many  weaknesses  and  vanities  which  characterized 
Elizabeth.  In  allusion  to  her  extreme  love  of  power, 
he  ventured  to  say  to  her,  when  she  informed  him  she 
never  intended  to  marry,  "Madam,  you  need  not  tell 
me  that ;  I  know  your  stately  stomach.  You  think  if 
you  were  married  you  would  be  but  queen  of  Eng- 
land ;  and  now  you  are  king  and  queen  both  ;  you  may 
not  suffer  a  commander."  Elizabeth  was  fortunately 
not  offended  at  this  freedom.  She  took  Sir  James, 
upon  one  occasion,  into  her  bed-chamber  and  opened  a 
little  case  in  which  were  several  miniature  pictures. 
The  pretence  was  to  show  him  a  likeness  of  Mary,  but 
her  real  object  was  tbat  he  should  observe  in  her  pos- 
session a  miniature  of  her  favorite,  the  Ea^-l  of  Leices- 
ter, upon  which  she  had  written  with  her  own  hand, 
"  My  lord's  picture." 

When  Melville  made  this  discovery,  Elizabeth  af- 
fected a  little  amiable  confusion.  "  I  held  the  candle," 
says  Sir  James,  "  and  pressed  to  see  my  lord's  picture  • 
albeit  she  was  loath  to  let  me  see  it ;  at  length  I  by  im- 
portunity obtained  sight  thereof,  and  asked  the  same  to 
carry  home  to  the  queen ;  which  she  refused,  alleging 
that  she  had  but  that  one  of  his."  At  anothei  time 
Elizabeth  talked  with  Sir  Jamas  of  the  different  cos- 
tumes of  different  countries.     She  told   him  she  had 


510  ELIZABETH   OF   ENULAND. 


dresses  of  many  sorts ;  and  she  appeared  in  a  new  one 
every  day  during  his  continuance  at  court.  Sometimes 
she  was  dressed  after  the  English,  sometimes  after  the 
French,  and  sometimes  after  the  ItaHan  fashion.  She 
asked  Sir  James  which  he  thought  became  her  best. 
He  said  the  Italian,  "  whilk  pleasit  her  weel ;  for  she 
delighted  to  show  her  golden-colored  hair,  wearing  a 
kell  and  bonnet  as  they  do  in  Italy.  Her  hair  was  red- 
der than  yellow,  and  apparently  of  nature."  Elizabeth 
herself  seems  to  have  been  quite  contented  with  its  hue, 
for  she  very  complacently  asked  Sir  James  whether  she 
or  Mary  had  the  finer  hair  ?  Sir  James  having  replied 
as  politely  as  possible,  she  proceeded  to  inquire  which 
he  considered  the  more  beautiful?  The  ambassador 
quaintly  answered  that  the  beauty  of  either  was  not  her 
worst  fault.  This  evasion  would  not  serve,  though  Mel- 
ville, for  many  sufficient  reasons,  was  unwilling  to  say 
anything  more  definite.  He  told  her  that  she  was  tlie 
fairest  queen  in  England,  and  Mary  the  fairest  in  Scot- 
land, Still  this  was  not  enough.  Sir  James  ventured, 
therefore,  one  step  further.  "  They  were  baith,"  he 
said,  "  the  fairest  ladies  of  their  courts,  and  that  the 
Queen  of  England  was  whiter,  but  our  queen  was  very 
lusome."  Elizabeth  next  asked  which  of  them  was  of 
highest  stature  ?  Sir  James  told  her  the  Queen  of 
Scots.  "  Then  she  said  the  queen  was  over-heigh,  and 
that  herself  was  neither  over-heigh  nor  over-laigh. 
Then  she  askit  what  kind  of  exercises  she  used.  I 
said,  that  as  I  was  dispatchit  out  of  Scotland,  the 
queen  was  but  new  come  back  from  the  Highland 
hunting ;  and  that  when  she  had  leisure  frae  the  affairs 


ELIZABETH   OF   ENGLAND.  811 


of  her  country,  she  read  upon  guid  books  the  histories 
of  divers  countries ;  and  sometimes  would  phij  upon 
the  lute  and  virginals.  She  spearit  gin  she  played 
weel ;  I  said  rauonably  for  a  queeny  This  account  of 
Mary's  accomplishments  piqued  Elizabeth's  vanity, 
and  determined  her  to  give  Melville  some  display  of 
her  own.  Accordingly,  next  day  one  of  the  lords  in 
waiting  took  him  to  a  quiet  gallery,  where,  as  if  by 
chance,  he  might  hear  the  queen  play  upon  the  virgi- 
nals. After  listening  a  little,  Melville  perceived  well 
enough  that  he  might  take  the  liberty  of  entering  the 
chamber  whence  the  music  came.  Elizabeth  coquet- 
tishly  left  off  as  soon  as  she  saw  him,  and  coming  for- 
ward, tapped  him  with  her  hand  and  affected  to  feel 
ashamed  of  being  caught,  declaring  that  she  never 
played  before  company,  but  only  when  alone,  to  keep 
off  melancholy.  Melville  made  her  a  flattering  speech, 
protesting  that  the  music  he  had  heard  was  of  so  ex- 
(juisite  a  kind,  that  it  had  irresistibly  drawn  him  into 
the  room.  Elizabeth,  who  does  not  seem  to  have 
thought  as  people  are  usually  supposed  to  do  in  polite 
society,  that  "  comparisons  are  odious,"  could  not  rest 
satisfied  without  putting,  as  usual,  the  question  whether 
Mary  or  she  played  best?  Melville  gave  the  English 
queen  the  palm.  Being  now  in  good-humor,  she  re- 
solved that  Sir  James  should  have  a  specimen  of  her 
learning,  which  it  was  well  known  degenerated  too 
much  into  pedantry.  She  praised  his  French,  asking 
if  he  could  also  speak  Italian,  which  she  said  she  her- 
self spoke  reasonably  well.  She  spoke  to  him  also  in 
Dutch  •  but  Sir  James  says  it  was  not  good.     After- 


812  ELIZABF.TH   OF   ENGLAND. 


ward,  she  insisted  upon  his  seeing  her  dance ;  and 
when  her  performance  was  over,  she  put  the  old  ques- 
tion whether  she  or  Mary  danced  best.  Melville  an- 
swered, "  The  queen  dancit  not  so  high  and  disposedly 
as  she  did."  Melville  returned  to  Scotland,  "  convinc- 
ed in  his  judgment  that  in  Elizabeth's  conduct  there 
was  neither  plain-dealing  nor  upright  meaning,  but 
great  dissimulation,  emulation,  and  fear  that  Mary's 
princely  qualities  should  too  soon  chase  her  out,  and 
displace  her  from  the  kingdom."  Surely  such  exqui- 
site vanity  as  this  description  reveals,  could  hardly  be- 
long to  a  mind  of  much  breadth  and  power,  whatever 
cunning  it  may  have  possessed. 

The  great  events  of  Elizabeth's  reign  were  the  estab- 
lishment of  Protestantism,  and  the  war  with  Spain,  sig- 
nalized by  the  defeat  of  the  Invincible  Armada.  The 
motives  of  her  renunciation  of  the  Pope's  authority 
have  been  mentioned ;  she  displayed  the  most  admira- 
ble prudence  in  effecting  a  peaceable  revolution  of  the 
national  religion;  and  the  beneficial  consequences  of  it 
to  the  world,  cannot  be  overestimated.  England  and 
Scotland  were,  for  a  long  time,  the  sole  champions  of 
religious  reform,  among  the  nations;  and  nobly  did 
they  maintain  their  cause.  Whatever  were  the  faults 
and  the  springs  of  action,  of  those  who  governed  these 
two  countries  during  this  most  critical  period  of  the 
church,  a  great  debt  of  gratitude  is  forever  due  to  their 
firmness  and  intrepidity. 

The  ecclesiastical  position  of  England  was  the  cause 
of  the  Spanish  war.  The  great  powers  of  the  conti- 
nent, temporal  and  spiritual,   were  leagued  to  crush 


ELIZABETH    OF    ENGLAND. 


313 


everywhere  the  interests  of  truth  and  freedom,  much 
in  the  way  they  are  combined  at  this  day.     But  the 
English  aid  rendered  to  Holland  and  Belgium  against 
Philip,  and  the  piracies  committed  on  Spanish  com- 
merce by  English  vessels,  were  the  occasions,  if  not  the 
causes,  of  the  war.     The  renowned  Sir  Francis  Drake, 
the    first    circumnavigator  of  the   world,   had  passed 
around  Cape  Horn,  loaded  his  ships  with  gold  and  sil- 
ver, taken  from  the  Spanish  trading  vessels,  and  find- 
ing his  return  intercepted,  came  home  by  way  of  India 
and  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope.     The  queen  took  posses- 
sion of  his  plunder,  on  pretence  that  Philip  might  de- 
mand restitution ;   she  disowned  the  expedition  ;  but 
she  welcomed  the  adventurer  back,  visited  his  ship,  at- 
tended the  festivities  on  board,  and  knighted  the  legal- 
ized buccaneer. 

When  Philip,  in  1587,  was  preparing  his  gigantic 
naval  invasion  of  England,  Drake,  with  a  fleet  of  some 
thirty  vessels,  sailed  for  Spain,  boldly  forced  his  way 
into  the  harbor  of  Cadiz  and  destroyed  more  than  a 
hundred  ships  of  the  proposed  expedition.  Continu- 
ing his  search,  he  burned  or  scuttled  all  the  vessels  he 
could  find  along  the  Spanish  coast.  This  aroused  the 
indomitable  Philip  to  still  greater  exertions,  and  by 
the  next  year  he  had  prepared  his  armada  of  one  hun- 
dred  and  thirty  ships,  of  unprecedented  size,  and  car- 
rying thirty  thousand  men,  together  with  two  thousand 
six  hundred  and  thirty  large  pieces  of  brass  cannon. 

Great  was  the  terror  of  England  at  this  vast  arma- 
ment, and  great  were  the  preparations  made  to  resist 
it.     Every  rank  of  t^e  people,  high  and  low,  through 


814  ELIZABETH    OF   ENGLAND. 


out  the  kingdom,  contributed  its  share  of  men,  money 
and  ships.  For  months  it  was  all  enthusiasm,  fear  and 
busy  work.  Thirty-four  thousand  foot  and  two  thou- 
sand horse,  with  a  considerable  fleet,  were  in  waiting 
on  the  coast,  to  meet  the  enemy,  while  twenty-two 
thousand  foot  and  a  thousand  horse,  under  the  com- 
mand of  Leicester,  were  stationed  near  the  mouth  of 
the  Thames  to  protect  the  capital. 

The  queen  was  undaunted  in  courage  and  untiring 
in  activity,  through  all  this  season  of  dreadful  suspense. 
She  was  the  animating  soul  of  the  whole  defensire 
movement ;  and  so  great  was  her  excitement  that  she 
suddenly  knighted  a  lady  who  exhibited  great  spirit  in 
encouraging  her  warlike  plans.  Herself  generalissimo 
of  all  the  forces,  she  was  determined  to  lead  them  in 
the  contest,  or  seemed  to  be  rcvsolved  so  to  do,  and  was 
with  difficulty  dissuaded  from  endangering  her  person. 
As  it  was,  she  reviewed  the  troops  at  Leicester's  camp, 
mounted  on  a  fine  horse,  and  attended  only  by  two 
earls,  one  of  whom  carried  the  sword  of  state,  while  a 
page  followed  bearing  her  helmet,  with  a  white  plume. 
A  bright  steel  corslet  covered  her  breast ;  immensely 
distended  robes,  as  in  her  portraits,  encumbered  her 
person,  and  she  held  a  marshal's  truncheon  in  her 
hand.  She  was  received  with  deafening  applause,  and 
made  a  spirited  speech,  in  which  she  said,  "  I  am  come 
among  you  as  you  see  at  this  time,  not  for  recreation 
and  disport,  but  being  resolved,  in  the  midst  of  the 
heat  of  battle,  to  live  and  die  amongst  you  all — to  lay 
down  for  my  God,  and  for  my  kingdoms,  and  for  my 
people,  my  honor  and  my  blood  even  in  the  dust.     I 


ELIZABETH   OF    ENGLAND.  315 


know  I  have  the  body  of  a  weak,  feeble  woman ;  but  I 
have  the  heart  and  stomach  of  a  king — and  of  a  king 
of  England  too,  and  think  foul  scorn  that  Parma  or 
Spain,  or  any  prince  of  Europe  dare  to  invade  the 
borders  of  my  realm  ;  to  which,  rather  than  any  dis- 
honor should  grow  by  me,  I  myself  will  take  up  arms — 
T  myself  will  be  your  general,  judge,  and  rewarder  of 
every  one  of  your  virtues  in  the  field."  Kapturous 
shouts  and  professions  of  fidelity  followed  this  appeal. 

A  storm  scattered  the  armada  for  a  while  at  the  out- 
set ;  this  was  reported  as  its  entire  loss  ;  and  Elizabeth 
ordered  her  larger  vessels  to  be  dismantled,  so  quickly 
did  parsimony  succeed  her  boastful  self-denial.  Her 
admiral  ventured  to  retain  all  his  force,  on  the  strength 
of  his  private  purse,  and  thus  savctl  F^ngland.  On  the 
19th  of  July,  1588,  the  tall  Spanish  ships,  with  their 
lofty  decks  turreted  like  castles,  were  descried  entering 
the  Channel,  and  extending  seven  miles  to  the  right 
and  left,  in  the  form  of  a  half-moon. 

"  Night  sank  upon  the  dusky  beach,  and  on  the  purple  sea ; 
Such  night  in  England  ne'er  had  been,  nor  e'er  again  shall  be ; 
From  Eddystone  to  Berwick  bounds,  from  Lyme  to  Milford  Bay , 
That  time  of  slumber  was  as  bright  and  busy  as  the  day ; 
For  swift  to  east,  and  swift  to  west,  the  warning  radiance  spread  ■ 
High  on  St.  Michael's  Mount  it  shone, — it  shone  on  Beachy  Head ; 
F^r  on  the  deep  the  Spaniard  saw,  along  each  southern  shire, 
Cgpe  beyond  cape,  in  endless  range,  those  twinkling  points  of  fire." 

The  result  is  well  known.  The  light  English  ves- 
sels hovered  about  the  unwieldy  ships  of  the  armada, 
crippling  and  sinking  them ;  at  night  many  were  set 
on  fire ;  all  were  thrown  into  confusion  and  escaped 


816  ELIZABETH   OF   ET^G-LAND. 


towards  the  Orkney  isles,  where  a  storm  so  over- 
whelmed them  that  not  one  half  of  the  proud  arma- 
ment returned  to  Spain. 

The  first  half  of  Elizabeth's  forty-five  years'  reign, 
was  much  occupied  with  her  flirtations.  She  had  in- 
numerable lovers  who  longed  to  share  her  power;  her 
position,  next  to  that  of  the  King  of  Spain,  was  the 
most  splendid  of  any  sovereign;  and  many  princes, 
both  at  home  and  abroad,  burned  for  the  prize  of  her 
hand.  She  seems  to  have  been  too  politic  to  hazard 
her  popularity  among  her  subjects  by  wedding  a  for- 
eign and  therefore  Catholic  suitor,  and  too  ambitious 
to  accept  of  any  subject  of  her  own.  But  she  had 
vanity  enough  to  dally  with  all  who  numbered  them- 
selves among  her  admirers.  And  once  or  twice  the 
advantages  of  married  life  betrayed  her  into  actual 
preparations  for  the  nuptial  ceremony.  She  professed, 
however,  a  desire  to  remain  single;  when  the  House 
of  Commons  ventured  to  suggest  the  desirability  of  an 
heir  to  the  throne,  she  replied  that  she  would  be  con- 
tent to  have  her  tombstone  declare  that  "  here  lies  one 
who  lived  and  died  a  maiden  queen." 

Philip  proposed  to  her,  through  his  messenger,  im- 
mediately on  the  death  of  his  wife.  Two  years  after- 
wards, she  had  the  small-pox ;  the  kingdom  was 
alarmed  at  the  prospect  of  her  death  and  the  confusion 
that  might  follow  concerning  her  successor ;  and  par- 
liament again  recommended  marriage  to  her,  on  her 
recovery.  There  seemed  to  be  some  prospect  now  of 
her  union  with  Robert  Dudley,  whom  she  had  made 
Earl  of  Leicester,  and  had  chiefly  favored.     He  was 


ELIZABETH    OF   ENGLAND.  317 


suspected  to  have  murdered  his  wife  to  make  room  for 
such  an  event;  and  Elizabeth  had  thrown  out  a  re- 
mark that  appeared  to  justify  such  an  expectation.  In 
her  frequent  and  magnificent  excursions,  he  enjoyed 
her  manifest  partiahty.  Once  she  visited  his  seat,  the 
castle  of  Kenilworth,  which  was  a  gift  from  her. 
"The  earl,"  we  are  told,  '"made  the  most  extensive 
and  costly  arrangements  for  the  reception  and  enter- 
tainment of  the  queen  and  her  retinue  on  this  occasion. 
The  moat  of  the  castle  had  a  floating  island  upon  it, 
with  a  fictitious  personage  whom  they  called  the  Lady 
of  the  Lake,  upon  the  island,  who  sung  a  song  in  praise 
of  Elizabeth  as  she  passed  the  bridge.  There  was  also 
an  artificial  dolphin  swimming  upon  the  water,  with  a 
band  of  musicians  within  it.  As  the  queen  advanced 
across  the  park,  men  and  women,  in  strange  disguises, 
came  out  to  meet  her,  and  to  offer  her  salutations  and 
praises.  One  was  dressed  as  a  sibyl,  another  like  an 
American  savage,  and  a  third,  who  was  concealed,  rep- 
resented an  echo.  This  visit  continued  for  nineteen 
days,  and  the  stories  of  the  splendid  entertainments 
provided  for  the  company,  the  plays,  the  bear-baitings, 
the  fire-works,  the  huntings,  the  mock-fights,  the  feast 
ings  and  revelries — filled  all  Europe  at  the  time,  and 
have  been  celebrated  by  historians   and   story-tellers 


ever  since." 


But  Leicester's  flatteries  were  all  in  vain  ;  in  despair 
he  married  another;  the  queen,  as  usual  in  such  cir- 
cumstances, was  enraged  and  sent  him  to  prison,  but 
afterwards  released  him.  So  unwilling  is  poor  human 
nature  to  yield  an  inch  of  the  territory  it  has  acquired 


818  ELIZABETH    OF    KNGLAND. 


in  otlier  hearts,  tliat  many  a  person,  though,  like  Eliz- 
abeth, a  Minerva  in  wisdom  and,  unlike  her,  an  angel 
of  goodness,  will  yet  indignantly  regard  the  one  as 
faithless  and  fickle  who,  doomed  for  an  indefinite 
period  to  be  fried  on  the  coals  of  hopeless  aiixiety,  at 
last  turns  to  another  and  more  heroic  spirit  to  find 
sympathy.  With  the  virgin  queen  it  was  a  settled  sys- 
tem to  prevent  all  love-matches  that  seemed  to  promise 
happiness  to  those  who  meditated  them,  and  also  to 
separate  and  imprison  for  years  or  for  life  those  who 
married  without  her  knowledge  or  consent.  Standing 
irresolute  at  the  half-open  door  of  matrimony,  she 
would  neither  enter  herself  nor  suffer  others  to  go  in 
thereat.  The  many  outrageous  instances  of  her  envy 
and  cruelty  need  not  be  repeated. 

A  passage  in  the  Life  of  Sir  Walter  Ealeigh,  illus- 
trates the  tj^ranny  of  Elizabeth  in  affairs  of  the  heart, 
and  also  her  extreme  susceptibility  to  the  gross  flatte- 
ries which  she  constantly  craved  and  received.  She 
was  mad  with  resentment  at  his  marriage,  and  sent 
him  to  the  Tower.  He  straightway  affected  to  be  over- 
come with  wretchedness  at  his  separation,  not  from  his 
beautiful  bride,  but  from  the  queen  herself  As  her 
majesty  sailed  by  on  the  Thames,  he  counterfeited  a 
crazy  determination  to  leap  from  the  window  and  swim 
out  to  the  royal  barge,  being  only  })revented  by  his 
keeper,  whose  wig  he  tore  off,  and  whose  heart  he  pre- 
tended he  would  strike  through  with  his  dagger,  in 
the  struggle.  He  then  wrote  to  Cecil,  knowing  that 
the  letter  would  be  shown  to  the  queen  ;  of  her  he 
thus  spoke  :  "  How  can  I  live  alone  in  prison,  while 


ELIZABETH    OF    KNGLAND.  319 


she  is  afar  off— I,  who  was  wont  to  behold  her  riding 
like  Alexander,  hunting  like  Diana,  walking  like 
Yenus — the  gentle  wind  blowing  her  fair  hair  about 
her  pure  cheeks,  like  a  nymph.  Sometimes  sitting  in 
the  shade  like  a  goddess,  sometimes  playing  on  the  lute 
like  Orpheus.  But  once  amiss,  hath  bereaved  me  of 
all.  All  those  times  are  past ;  the  loves,  the  sighs,  the 
sorrows,  the  desires,  can  they  not  weigh  down  one  frail 
misfortune?"  Elizabeth  was  so  affected  by  this  tendei- 
description  of  herself  that  she  released  him  not  long 
after. 

Her  suitors  gradually  fell  off  as  she  approached  an 
unfruitful  age,  until  in  her  forty-sixth  year,  Francis, 
Duke  of  Anjou  and  brother  of  the  French  king,  was 
almost  the  only  one  that  remained.  He  was  not  half 
her  equal  in  years,  and  had  never  seen  her.  He  plied 
his  courtship  through  an  artful  proxy,  and  the  ancient 
maiden  so  warmed  towards  hiin,  that  he  made  a  pom- 
pous visit  to  the  English  court.  The  affair  was  fully 
arranged,  and,  at  a  banquet,  the  queen  publicly  put  a 
ring  on  his  finger,  in  token  of  the  engagement.  The 
event  created  a  great  sensation  on  the  "  fast-anchored 
isle"  and  throughout  the  Continent,  where  it  was  sig- 
nalized with  bells  and  bonfires.  But,  as  the  marriage 
approached,  Elizabeth  wavered  ;  she  summoned  Francis 
to  her  presence ;  and,  when  he  had  left  her  apartment, 
he  dashed  away  the  ring  and  cursed  the  caprice  of 
woman.  She  accompanied  him,  with  much  parade,  to 
the  coast,  and  entreated  him  to  return,  but  he  never 
showed  his  face  again  that  side  of  the  Channel. 

Her  last  favorite  was  Robert  Devereux,  Earl  ot  Es- 


320  ELIZABETH   OF    ENGLAND. 


sex,  by  which  name  he  is  generally  known.     He  was 
a  son  of  Leicester's  second  wife,  and  was  a  fascinating, 
fiery,  generous  young  man,  just  of  age  when  Elizabeth, 
nearly  sixty,  transferred  to  him  her  partiality  for  Lei- 
cester, who  had  died  soon  after  the  defeat  of  the  Ar- 
mada.    Her  regard  for  Essex  appeared  to  be  a  mixture 
of  motherly  fondness  and  maidenly  romance.     She  felt 
a  torturing  solicitude  for  his  safety,  and  was  frequently 
agonized  by  his  unannounced  departure  on  cruising  ex- 
peditions against  the  Spaniards,  iu  which  he  leapt  for 
joy  at  every  encounter,  and  plunged  into  the  thickest 
fight.     He  gained  a  high  place  in  general  admiration, 
and,  with  more  discretion,  would  have  been  the  first 
man  in  the  realm.     But  he  overstepped  the  queen's  pa- 
tience.    Irritated  by  her  refusal  to  grant  a  request  of 
his,  he  committed  the  egregious  offence  of  turning  his 
back  on  her  as  he  left  her  presence.     She  started  up  in 
a  rage  and  boxed  him  on  the  ear,  and  bade  him  "Go 
and  be  hanged."     He  seized  his  sword-hilt  in  a  threat- 
ening way,  and  declared  that  "He  would  not  have 
taken  that  blow  from  King  Henry,  her  father,   nor 
would  he  endure  it  from  any  one."     They  were  after- 
wards reconciled,  quarrelled  again,  and  again  were  rec- 
onciled ;  but,  when  the  queen  withdrew  the  monopoly 
of  wines  from  him,  which  was  his  chief  support,  he  en- 
tered into  treasonable  plots,  was  condemned  and  was 
executed,  maintaining  a  brave  spirit  to  the  last.     The 
queen  had  formerly  given  him  a  ring,  with  the  promise 
that  it  should  be  a  guerdon  of  her  favor,  if  he  ever  fell 
into  extreme  disgrace  and  danger.     She  delayed  his 
death  for  a  long  time,  hoping  that  he  would  avail  him- 


ELIZABETH   OF   ENGLAND.  321 


self  of  the  promise.  He  did,  in  fact,  but  the  one  to 
whom  he  entrusted  the  ring,  withheld  it  from  Ehza- 
beth.  Subsequently  this  person,  the  Countess  of  Not- 
tingham, confessed,  on  a  sick  bed,  her  fault  to  the 
queen,  who  shook  the  dying  woman,  and  fiercely  told 
her  that  God  might  forgive  her,  but  she  never  would. 

These  events  induced  in  her  a  melancholy  that  has- 
Lened  her  death,  which  occurred  in  the  seventieth  year 
of  her  age,  and  the  forty-fifth  of  her  reign.  She  re- 
fused food  and  medicme,  and  my  prostrate  on  the  floor 
at  Richmond  palace,  whither  she  had  removed  to  be 
near  a  chapel  that  communicated  with  the  royal  apart- 
ments. For  ten  days  and  nights  she  lay  in  the  anguish 
of  remorse  and  bitterness,  declaring  that  life  was  a 
burthen,  and  groaning  at  every  breath.  When  urged 
to  appoint  a  successor,  she  said  angrily,  "  I  will  have 
no  rascal's  son  in  my  seat,  buc  one  worthy  to  be  a 
king" — meaning  thereby  no  one  low  in  station,  but  the 
King  of  Scotland,  the  son  of  her  hated  rival,  the 
Queen  of  Scots.  Ac  length  she  sank  into  a  profound 
sleep  from  which  she  never  awoke.  When  she  breathed 
no  longer,  the  preconcerted  sign  of  the  fact — a  sapphire 
ring,  was  dropped  from  her  window  into  the  hands  of 
a  messenger,  who  started,  at  full  speed,  to  convey  it  to 
James  of  Scotland. 

She  was  buried,  with  magnificent  ceremonies,  in 
Westminster  Abbey.  A  wax  figure  of  her,  exhibited 
on  the  occasion,  excited  great  lamentation,  and  is  still 
preserved  in  a  secret  room  of  the  Abbey.  It  has  her 
delicate  features,  broad  forehead  and  high  cheek-bones ; 
and  is  dressed  in  her  robee  of  crimson  satin,  profusely 
21 


322  ELIZABETH  OF  ENGLAND. 


ornamented  with  pearls,  rubies,  emeralds,  diamonds, 
fringe  and  ample  ruffs,  with  a  purple  velvet  mantle,  er- 
mined  and  gold- laced  ;  on  the  head  is  a  light-red  friz^ 
zled  wig,  and  on  the  small  feet  are  high-heeled  shoes — 

fit  emblem  of  her  character. 

She  was  a  learned,  acute,  brave  and  determined 
woman,  but  deceitful,  jealous,  vain,  selfish  and  mali- 
cious. Her  life  was  a  long  progress  from  all  that  is 
promising  and  romantic  to  all  that  is  pitiful  and  detes- 
table ;  and  her  last  years  were  a  notable  comment  on  the 
emptiness  of  pomp  and  power.  In  her  reign,  the  great 
stars  of  literature  shone,  and  England,  from  a  second- 
rate  kingdom,  began  the  splendid  career  by  which,  at 
this  hour,  she  boasts  an  ^eighth  of  the  habitable  globe, 
forty  colonies,  and  a  seventh  of  the  world's  population, 
or  one  hundred  and  eighty  million  subjects. 


MARY  OF  SCOTLAND. 


J  J  >  J  J 


c      c 

f  f  <  ' 


zzi^T^yeo^bf  J  _  r'-.- 


tayfy2^:.=-^-^^^^^^S^'^ 


Jfiarq  of  Icntlanh. 

Virtue  may  be  assailed,  but  never  hurt; 
Surprised  by  unjust  force,  but  not  enthralled , 
Yet  even  that,  wliich  mischief  meant  most  harm, 
Shall  in  the  happy  trial  prove  most  glory. — Milton. 

The  character  of  no  woman,  whose  name  figures  in 
the  past,  has  excited  more  discussion  than  that  of  Mary 
Queen  of  Scots.  From  her  day  to  this,  countless  vol- 
umes have  been  published,  in  bitter  accusation  or  de- 
fence of  her,  or  with  a  professed  attempt  at  impartiality. 
All  the  long-entailed  disputes  of  royal  families,  the  un- 
forgiving pride  of  three  great  nations,  and  the  endless 
conflict  of  religious  parties,  have  contributed  to  prolong 
the  agitation  of  this  question,  whether  she  was  guilty, 
or  not,  of  the  iniquities  charged  upon  her.  But  the 
world  has  more  generally  taken  a  favorable  view  of 
her  character,  in  proportion  as  prejudices  have  worn 
away,  and  the  causes  of  controversy  have  been  remov- 
ed. To  exculpate  her  now,  it  is  enough  to  know  that 
there  is  no  positive  evidence  against  her,  that  her  ene- 
mies had  every  unworthy  motive  to  misrepresent  the 
facts,  and  that  her  whole  spirit,  to  the  last  hour  of  her 


326  MARY   OF   SCOTLAND. 


unfortunate  life,  was  evidently  that  of  a  pure  and  noble- 
hearted  woman. 

Scotland,  in  common  with  Europe,  was  still  emerg- 
ing from  the  barbarism  of  the  Middle  Ages,  when 
Mary  acted  her  part  in  the  scene  of  human  affairs. 
She  was  born  in  the  palace  of  Linlithgow,  on  the  7th 
of  December,  1542,  a  remarkable  year  inasmuch  as  it 
was  precisely  a  half  century  after  the  discovery  of 
America,  and  just  a  quarter  of  a  century  after  the  first 
act  of  Luther's  Eeformation ;  it  was  also  very  nearly 
one  hundred  years  subsequent  to  the  invention  of  the 
art  of  printing  with  separate  types.  These  three  events 
smote  the  dead  calm  of  man's  intellect  into  increasing 
commotion,  and  set  forward  the  world  in  a  rapid  tide 
of  progress.  At  the  period  of  Mary's  birth,  Scotland 
was  in  the  fiercest  struggle  of  that  Protestantism  which 
developed  itself  more  sternly  there  than  elsewhere ;  and 
it  was  likewise  passing  through  the  most  sanguinary 
conflicts  of  the  feudal  barons  and  clans  with  each  other, 
and  with  a  centralizing  royalty.  In  no  other  country 
were  internal  broils  so  severe  and  protracted.  The 
advantage  of  mountain  fastnesses,  the  small  number  of 
nobles,  the  lack  of  large  towns,  and  the  division  of  the 
nation  into  great  kindreds  or  tribes,  were  a  few  of  the 
causes  of  this  state  of  things.  Besides,  the  kingdom 
was  a  bone  of  contention  between  the  English  crown, 
which  labored  to  unite  the  Scottish  with  its  own,  and 
the  French,  who  adroitly  played  off  the  latter  in  their 
wars  with  the  former. 

Into  such  a  furious  sea  of  changes  was  Mary  thrown- 
nor  is  her  nature  the  less  beautiful  for  the  contrast  of 


MARY   OF  SCOTLAND.  827 


BO  fair  a  flower  with  the  dark  billows  on  which  it  was 
helplessly  tost.  Her  father  was  James  V.  of  Scotland, 
and  her  mother  was  Mary  of  Lorraine,  daughter  to  the 
Duke  of  Guise,  of  France  ;  both  were  strong  and  culti- 
vated in  mind,  and  of  energetic  character.  Commerce 
and  agriculture  had  made  little  progress  in  this  wild, 
northern  country ;  the  wealthy,  in  common  with  the 
poorest  classes,  were  without  education ;  Edinboro' 
was  not,  as  now,  the  "  Athens  of  the  North  ;"  and  tra- 
ditionary songs  and  legends  were  almost  the  only  liter- 
ature of  the  people.  King  James  was  himself  a  poet, 
and  encouraged  learning  and  art  in  various  ways  di- 
rectly, as  well  as  indirectly  by  the  ingress  of  foreigners, 
consequent  on  his  alliance  with  France — then,  as  now, 
the  centre  of  refinement.  In  personal  beauty,  valoi 
and  accomplishments,  he  was  worthy  of  such  a  daugh- 
ter as  Mary.  Tall  and  muscular  in  figure,  fair-haired, 
of  regular  features,  bright  gray  eyes,  and  sweet  voice, 
his  presence  was  both  commanding  and  winning ;  and 
his  death  was  brave  and  graceful,  like  his  life.  Re- 
pulsed by  the  English  army,  and  suspecting  treachery 
in  his  own  officers,  he  was  yet  cheerful  in  his  last  hour ; 
before  he  expired,  he  smiled  upon  the  assembled  noble- 
men," and  gave  them  his  hand  to  kiss.  Mary  was  only 
seven  days  old  when  her  father  died,  and  neither  of 
them  ever  saw  the  other. 

The  nation  was  immediately  distracted  with  troubles 
connected  with  the  choice  of  a  regent,  to  govern  dur- 
ing her  infancy.  James  Hamilton,  Earl  of  Arran,  of 
royal  blood,  was  finally  chosen.  With  him,  Henry 
vill.  of  England,  a  Protestant,  negotiated  a  marriage 


S28  MABf   OP  SCOTLAND. 


between  bis  son  Edward  and  the  inflint  Mary.  The 
treaty  was  soon  brokei.  up  "by  her  mother  and  Cardinal 
Beaton,  the  leader  of  the  Catholic  party,  who  knew 
that,  if  fulfilled,  it  wo  jld  destroy  the  influence  of  their 
church,  and  of  the  h  ouse  of  Guise,  and  tend  to  make 
Scotland  an  Enghsh  province.  The  cardinal  in  this 
affair,  made  a  tool  ol  the  Earl  of  Lennox,  who,  disap- 
pointed in  his  expe</ted  reward,  the  regent's  office,  in- 
stigated King  Henr}'  to  send  an  avenging  army,  which, 
however,  after  plundering  Edinburgh,  retired  home. 
The  earl  was  obli^^-ed,  by  his  part  in  this  movement, 
to  escape  into  Enj ;land,  where,  in  token  of  his  services, 
Lad;^  Margaret  I'ouglas,  niece  of  the  king,  was  given 
him  in  marriage  To  them  was  born  Darnley,  after- 
wards so  conspit  aous  as  the  husband  of  our  heroine, 
and  the  father  c  t  James  the  First  of  England.  Thus, 
the  failure  of  Itie  Earl  of  Lennox  led  to  indirect  suc- 
cess, and  gave  aim  the  proud  distinction  of  being  the  an- 
cestor ofthe  fii^t  sovereign,  and  of  many  succeeding  ones, 
after  the  unio  i  of  the  crowns  of  Scotland  and  England. 
Soon  aftei  these  events,  the  Enghsh  king  and  his 
enemies,  Cai  dinal  Beaton  of  Scotland,  and  Francis  I, 
of  France,  were  one  after  another  numbered  with  the 
dead.  Bui  the  rivalries  of  the  three  nations  contirmed 
none  the  kiis.  The  English  regent  pursued  the  same 
policy  of  forcing  the  Scotch  to  comply  with  arbitrary 
demands,  and  defeated  them  in  the  battle  of  Pinkie, 
slaying  eight  thousand  of  their  men.  The  Scotch  ap- 
plied for  aid  to  Henry  II.  of  France,  and  bartered  their 
young  queen,  Mary,  to  his  infant  son,  the  Dauphin 
Francis,  agreeing  to  send  her  to  the  French  court  to  be 


MART   OF  SCOTLAND.  329 


educated.  The  same  fleet  that  brought  six  thousand 
Frenchmen  to  assist  her  country  in  its  wars,  carried 
her  away  from  her  native  shores.  She  was  now  six 
years  of  age,  and  hitherto  had  been  the  unconscious 
object  of  national  homage  and  contention. 

When  nine  months  old,  she  had  been  crowned,  in 
the  presence  of  nobles  and  foreign  ambassadors,  at  a 
place  famous  for  its  beauty  and  associations — Stirling 
Castle.  The  English  ambassador  beheld  her  disrobed, 
that  he  might  satisfy  his  king,  whose  plans  depended 
on  her  union  with  his  son  Edward  ;  the  officer  reported 
her  to  be  "  as  goodly  a  child  as  he  ever  saw."  She  re- 
mained another  year,  in  the  care  of  her  nurse,  Janet 
Sinclair,  at  her  birth-place — the  palace  of  Linlithgow, 
situated  on  the  margin  of  a  small  lake,  and  now  in 
ruins.  Here  she  had  the  small-pox,  which,  however, 
left  no  marks  to  disfigure  her  beauty,  in  after  years. 
For  safer  keeping  she  spent  the  next  two  years  at 
Stirling  castle  ;  and,  then,  for  the  same  reason,  was  re- 
moved to  Inchmahome,  a  small  island  in  the  Lake  of 
Monteith— one  of  the  gems  that  are  hidden  in  the  once 
inaccessible  Highlands  of  Scotland.  Linlithgow,  Stir- 
ling, and  Monteith  all  lie  at  about  equal  distances,  in 
a  north-west  direction  from  Edinburgh. 

Four  children  of  rank,  each  bearing  the  name  of 
Mary,  were  her  playmates  and  fellow-students,  in  this 
wild  island-home ;  and,  afterwards,  the  same  number, 
of  the  same  name,  were  retained,  when  one  after  an- 
other of  the  four  Maries  ceased  to  be  a  companion  of 
the  queen.  Attended  by  these,  and  the  Lords  Erskine 
and  Livingston,  and  her  three  brothers,  she  sailed  from 


330  MARY  OF  SCOTLAND. 


Dumbarton,  on  the  west  coast  of  the  kingdom,  in  Ju 
1548.  After  a  stormy  voyage  of  two  weeks,  the  pre- 
cious ckild  arrived  safely  in  France,  there  to  spend 
thirteen  years  of  happiness  as  exquisite  as  the  misery 
that  followed  it.  Never  was  a  life  more  signalized  by 
transition  from  the  height  of  honor  and  pleasure,  to 
the  depth  of  humiliation  and  woe. 

By  order  of  the  king,  Mary's  reception  and  journey 
to  the  palace  of  St.  Germain,  were  royally  magnifi- 
cent; and  the  prisons  of  every  town  she  passed,  were 
thrown  open,  as  if  the  liberation  of  the  king's  criminals 
were  a  favor,  for  which  the  people  should  be  grateful 
to  the  young  queen,  in  honor  of  whom  the  act  was 
done.  Arrived  at  the  palace,  and  duly  complimented 
with  festivities,  she  was  soon  sent,  with  the  king's 
daughters,  to  a  convent  for  education.  Here  she  evin- 
ced great  aptitude  for  learning,  but,  even  at  her  tender 
age,  manifested  such  a  growing  fondness  for  cloister 
life,  that  her  royal  friends  and  princely  relatives,  at  the 
end  of  two  years,  took  her  away  and  introduced  her  to 
all  the  dazzling  pomp  of  courtly  life,  fearing  lest  she 
might  acquire  an  incurable  love  of  religious  solitude, 
take  the  nun's  veil,  and  defeat  their  ambitious  hopes. 

Such  thus  far,  and  during  all  her  years,  were  the 
kind  and  amount  of  interest  that  centered  in  a  playful, 
innocent  child,  no  different  from  a  multitude  of  others, 
except  in  the  accident  of  birth.  The  eyes  of  Europe 
were  fixed  upon  her,  as  if  her  sunny  ringlets  covered 
he  wisdom  of  a  Charlemagne,  and  in  her  dimpled  arm 
»lept  the  strength  of  a  Charles  Martel.  Grave  coun- 
cilors made  her  the  theme  of  deep  study,  kings  were 


MARY   OF   SCOTLAND.  881 


sleepless  in  their  anxiety,  nations  were  embattled  and 
blood  flowed  freely,  all  for  the  sake  of  a  little,  help- 
less girl.  Yet,  in  the  walls  of  Stirling,  on  the  island 
of  Inchmahome,  beneath  the  roof  of  the  convent,  and 
in  the  regal  gardens  of  Fontainebleau,  she  prattled 
and  romped  and  slept,  as  sweetly  as  if  only  a  peasant's 
humble  life  awaited  her. 

It  was  fortunate  for  Mary  to  pass  her  youth  in 
France.  The  court  and  people  were  not  then,  as  since, 
eminently  licentious ;  the  king  and  his  favorite  were 
outwardly  correct ;  his  sister,  the  Princess  Margaret, 
exercised  a  highly  moral  influence ;  and  the  queen, 
Catherine  de  Medicis,  a  woman  of  great  talents,  had 
not  yet  developed  her  unenviable  character.  Every- 
thing tended  to  the  cultivation  of  religious  and  deli- 
cate feeling  in  the  young  mind  entrusted  to  their  care. 

Nothing  indeed  would  seem  more  mutually  bene- 
ficial than  the  intercourse  of  the  Scotch  and  French 
nations.  The  former,  by  nature,  have  a  surplus  of 
conscience,  and  the  latter  appear  to  have  a  native  lack 
of  that  endowment ;  and,  at  the  period  in  view,  some- 
thing of  the  ignorance,  religious  severity  and  iron  in- 
flexibility that  characterized  the  one  people,  could  be 
well  exchanged  for  something  of  the  refinement,  elas 
ticity  and  joyous  grace  of  the  other.  It  was  the 
era  of  fresh  intellectual  life  in  France.  Its  system  of 
education  had  just  been  grandly  enlarged ;  all  branches 
of  science  were  gratuitously  taught  by  professors  who 
■were  supported  by  government;  and  many  men  of 
genius  and  celebrity  adorned  the  various  departments 
of  authorship. 


332  MARY   OF   SCOTLAND. 


The  most  noted  of  these  were  selected  as  the  instruc- 
tors of  Mary  and  her  companions,  in  addition  to  the 
two  teachers  who  had  accompanied  her  from  her  na- 
tive land.  She  became  familiar  with  Latin  and  Italian, 
and  could  write  and  speak  the  French  with  elegance, 
bef(;re  she  was  ten  years  old ;  and  poetry,  then  and 
ever,  had  for  her  a  peculiar  charm.  In  rhetoric  she 
was  taught  by  Fauchet,  in  history  by  Pasquier,  and  in 
poetry  by  Ronsard,  all  of  them  names  well  known  in 
the  annals  of  literature.  In  the  accomplishments  of  in- 
genuity she  excelled,  particularly  in  embroidery  and 
the  inventing  of  devices  and  mottoes,  which  were  very 
fashionable  at  that  day.  Her  loving  remembrance  of 
her  convent-home  was  testified  to  by  the  present  of  a 
richly-worked  altar-cloth  from  her  hands.  Some  of 
the  devices  which  her  fancy  produced,  have  been  pre- 
served. When  her  first  husband  died,  she  hnd  a  seal 
made  representing  a  branch  of  a  liquorice  tree,  of 
which  the  root  only  is  sweet ;  and  beneath  the  branch 
a  motto  in  Latin,  signifying,  "  The  earth  covers  my 
sweet."  On  her  trappings,  she  embroidered  a  French 
sentence,  meaning,  "  My  end  is  my  beginning" — a 
thought  that  all  persons,  the  obscure  no  less  than  the 
great,  and  the  suffering  as  well  as  the  fortunate,  would 
do  well  to  keep  in  mind.  By  her  orders  also,  a  medal 
was  made,  with  the  image  of  a  wrecked  ship,  and  the 
words  in  Latin,  "  Nothing  unless  erect" — teaching  the 
value  of  uprightness. 

That  physical  development,  mthout  which  mental 
activity  is  almost  a  curse,  was  not  forgotten  in  the  edu- 
cation of  the  Queen  of  Scots.     Lively  recreations  and 


MAKY   OF  SCOTLAND.  833 


vigorous  exercises  gave  her  that  flow  of  spirits  which 
is  the  essence  of  health,  and  thus  that  health  which  is 
the  life  of  life,  rendering  it  something  else  than  a  liv- 
ing death.  Particularly  did  the  exercises  of  dancing 
and  riding  exalt  her  naturally  fine  figure  and  move- 
ments, to  the  height  of  graceful  freedom.  Her  excel- 
lent performance  of  the  stately  minuet  may  be  still  re- 
corded to  her  honor,  and  all  the  more  so  in  view  of  the 
indecent  waltz,  polka,  and  schottish  of  later  times.  The 
romantic  but  cruel  amusement  of  stag-hunting  fasci- 
nated her  with  the  joy  of  a  bounding  chase  through 
the  forests;  and,  although  thrown  from  her  horse  on 
one  occasion,  and  nearly  trampled  down,  she  mounted 
and  gaily  sped  forward  again.  Thus  she  nourished  the 
royal  power  and  beauty  of  the  human  frame,  prepared 
herself  for  healthy  thought,  and  brave  action  in  the  du- 
ties of  life. 

In  1550,  our  heroine's  mother,  the  dowager  Mary  of 
Guise,  came  from  Scotland  to  see  her  child,  on  whom 
two  years  since  their  separation,  and  eight  years  of  age, 
had  shed  bloom  and  wisdom.  Overcome  at  the  sight 
of  her  daughter's  expanding  loveliness,  she  wept  tears 
of  joy.  She  persuaded  the  king  to  secure  her  the  re- 
gency of  Scotland,  and  returned  thither,  destined  never 
to  look  upon  her  beautiful  and  ill-fated  child  again. 
At  this  period,  too,  came  from  Mary's  native  land  the 
accomplished  James  Melville  to  act  as  her  page  of 
honor;  he  was  a  few  years  older  than  herself.  He 
subsequently  acted  often  as  her  ambassador,  and  fig- 
ured much  in  the  events  of  the  time. 

Surrounded  by  instructors,  the  young  quee»^  and  the 


334  MARY   OF   SCOTLAND. 


king's  daughters  spent  several  hours,  every  day,  with 
Catherine  de  Medicis ;  and  so  devoted  was  Mary  to  this 
woman's  brilliant  society,  that  it  excited  jealousy  rather 
than  affection.  She  would  not  believe  the  child's  asser- 
tion that  she  loved  to  gain  wisdom  from  her,  and  her 
distinguished  visitors ;  nor  would  she  respond  to  the 
trustful  love  of  her  future  daughter-in-law.  Jealous, 
doubtless,  of  Mary's  superiority  over  her  own  daugh- 
ters, she  even  endeavored,  in  common  with  those  in 
France  who  envied  the  elevation  of  the  house  of  Guise, 
and  those  in  Scotland  who  deprecated  the  reign  of 
French  Catholic  influence,  to  defeat  the  proposed  mar- 
riage with  her  son  Francis.  Whether  instigated  by  an 
interested  party,  or  by  his  own  mistaken  zeal  for  his 
country,  a  Scotch  archer,  in  the  king's  guards,  at- 
tempted to  poison  the  youthful  queen. 

These  circumstances  only  hastened  a  union  which 
was  at  least  a  Providential  solace  of  recollection  to 
Mary  during  her  after  years  of  trouble.  The  machi- 
nations of  even  the  powerful  Montmorency  and  the 
family  of  Bourbon,  could  not  swerve  the  king  from  his 
purpose  to  strengthen  his  power  in  Scotland  as  speedily 
as  possible,  nor  sever  the  two  hearts,  that  already  clung 
to  each  other.  Francis  was  slender  in  health,  and  dif- 
fident, yet  kind  and  affectionate  in  disposition;  and 
Mary,  though  strong  and  spirited,  had  grown  up  in  his 
companionship,  always  regarding  him  as  her  husband 
elect,  in  a  spirit  of  cheerful  compliance  with  the  ar- 
rangement made,  and  probably  mingling  compassion 
with  her  responsive  tenderness.  The  marriage  was 
solemnized  on  the  24th  of  April,  1568,  at  the  churoh 


MARY   OP  SCOTLAND.  335 


( f  Notre  Dame.  The  month  previous,  commissioners 
had  arrived  from  Scotland,  who  negotiated  the  impor- 
tant conditions  of  the  union  in  view  of  every  contin- 
gency, which  provisions,  however,  it  is  affirmed,  Henry 
II.  was  prepared  to  evade,  so  as  to  unite  the  Scotch 
and  French  crowns,  at  all  events. 

The  wedding  party,  on  the  bridal  morning,  were  as- 
sembled at  the  palace  of  the  archbishop,  the  bride  being 
dressed  in  a  jewelled  white  robe,  with  a  long  train  borne 
by  girls,  after  "  the  humor  of  the  time."  There  is  end- 
less evidence  that  her  reputation  for  uncommon  beauty, 
was  something  more  than  flattery.  Her  form  was  full 
and  tall ;  her  hair  a  sunny  brown,  and  falling  in  luxu- 
riant ringlets ;  her  face  clear  and  softly  outlined,  with 
a  Grecian  nose,  lovely  lips,  and  chestnut  eyes ;  and  her 
delicate  hands,  as  they  waved  in  gesture,  or  glided 
over  the  strings  of  a  lute,  when  she  sang  sweetly, 
threw  the  court-poets  into  spasms  of  admiration.  From 
the  bishop's  palace,  the  royal  company  marclied  through 
a  temporary  covered  way,  lined  with  gold  embroidered 
purple  velvet,  into  the  stupendous  church,  the  pope's 
Quncio  preceding  with  a  golden  cross,  the  bridegroom 
following,  then  the  king  and  the  bride.  Passing 
through  the  church,  they  appeared  on  a  platform  at 
the  door,  in  sight  of  an  immense  throng,  seated  in  an 
amphitheatre,  built  for  the  occasion.  Here  the  ring 
was  given  and  a  benediction  pronounced,  when  they 
returned  to  the  choir  of  the  cathedral,  where  high  mass 
ffas  performed. 

After  a  feast  and  ball  at  the  bishop's  house,  the  party 
adjourned  to   the  Tournelles   palace,    to   enjoy  such 


836  MARY   OF   SCOTLAND, 


amusements  as  beholding  artificial  horses,  richly  ca- 
parisoned and  bearing  children  of  rank,  move  by  in- 
ternal machinery  through  the  halls ;  and  superb  barges 
pass,  on  in-door  lakes,  and  rowed  by  a  single  youth 
who  thus  carried  off  from  the  crowd  his  lady-love. 
The  celebration  continued  fifteen  days,  and  was  closed 
by  a  grand  tournament. 

During  all  these  spectacles,  Mary  was  as  much  a 
wonder  of  loveliness  to  all  who  saw  her,  as  she  was 
not  long  before,  when,  bearing  a  torch  in  an  evening 
procession  and  looking  unearthly  radiant  in  the  wild 
Ught  shed  down  on  her  features,  she  was  asked,  by  a 
woman  in  the  crowd,  if  she  "  were  indeed  an  angel." 
In  Scotland,  the  marriage  was  honored,  among  other 
ways,  by  bonfires,  and  by  firing  the  famous  gigantic 
gun  called  Mons  Meg^  which  is  still  to  be  seen.  The 
bride  and  groom  retired  into  the  country,  after  the 
ceremonies,  to  enjoy  the  quiet  that  was  especially 
grateful  to  the  shrinking  nature  of  Francis.  Here 
Mary  showed  herself  as  eminent  in  the  affectionate  du- 
ties of  a  wife,  as  she  had  been  in  the  splendors  of  the 

court. 

But  the  freedom  of  rural  life  was  not  long  the  privi- 
lege of  these  two  amiable  beings.  Cares  and  griefs 
were  near  at  hand.  The  first  interruption  of  their 
quietude,  was  the  death  of  the  king,  Henry  II.  At  a 
tournament,  given  in  honor  of  his  sister's  and  eldest 
daughter's  marriages,  he  himself  entered  the  lists  in  all 
the  pride  -of  his  strength,  courage  and  regal  array ; 
but,  by  one  of  the  accidents  that  sometimes  happened 
in  that  warlike  diversion,  a  lance  pierced  his  helmet, 


MARY    OF   SCOTLAND.  387 


inflicting  a  wound  from  which  he  died  a  few  days 
after.  Francis,  ill  at  the  time,  sprang  from  his  bed, 
assumed  the  sceptre,  and  was  crowned  at  Rheims,  Sep- 
tember, 1559. 

Mary  was  now  queen  of  both  France  and  Scotland, 
and,  through  the  influence  of  her  friends,  unwisely  pa- 
raded a  title  to  the  English  crown,  also.  The  young 
Edward  YL,  to  whom  she  was  once  engaged,  and  his 
sister  INfary,  known  as  the  Bloody,  had  successively 
worn  that  crown  and  died,  leaving  it  to  the  famous 
Elizabeth,  who  was  first  cousin  to  the  father  of  Mary, 
Queen  of  Scots.  The  title  of  the  latter  to  this,  a  third 
throne,  was  urged  on  the  ground  of  Elizabeth's  illegiti- 
macy, which  had  been  first  decreed,  and  afterwards  de- 
nied, by  Acts  of  Parliament,  the  question  being,  whether 
the  divorce  of  her  mother,  Anne  Boleyn,  rendered  the 
daughter  a  rightful  heir  to  royalty,  or  not.  The  death 
of  Elizabeth  would,  without  dispute,  have  given  Mary 
a  triple  sceptre ;  and  she  was  right  in  refusing,  as  she 
did,  most  firmly  and  ably  for  one  so  young,  to  relin- 
quish such  a  rich  reversion.  As  it  was,  her  plate,  ban- 
ners, seals,  furniture,  all  bore  the  united  arms  of  Scot- 
land, France  and  England ;  and  her  chosen  device  was 
the  crowns  of  the  two  first,  with  the  words  in  Latin — 
"  Another  is  delayed"  or  "  awaits  me."  Provoking  as 
was  this  to  the  high  temper  of  England's  maiden  sov- 
ereign, it  fitly  signified  our  heroine's  peerless  position 
before  the  eyes  of  a  continent.  She  stood,  in  the  glory 
of  youth  and  beauty,  at  the  head  of  two  of  its  greatest 
kingdoms,  and  claimed  headship  over  another.  The 
then,  as  now,  most  splendid  empires  of  Europe,  were 


99 


888  MARY   OF  SCOTLAND. 


heis,  in  possession  or  expectancy.  But,  even  in  the 
first  full  blaze  of  her  fortune,  she  did  not  lose  her  sweet 
humility  and  magnanimity.  In  the  coronation  proces- 
sion, she  yielded  her  own  rightful  precedence  to  her 
always  ungracious,  and  now  discrowned  and  frowning 
rnother-in-law. 

Francis,  notwithstanding  his  feeble  constitution  and 
his  title  of  the  Little,  to  distinguish  him  invidiously 
from  Francis  the  Great,  entered  on  his  duties  with 
much  energy.  But  his  health  declined,  and,  after  a 
reign  of  seventeen  months,  he  died,  expressing,  to  the 
last,  his  love  for  Mary.  She  had  already,  the  same 
year,  mourned  the  death  of  her  mother,  the  regent  of 
Scotland,  whose  life  was  wearied  out  in  vain  attempts 
to  crush  the  Eeformation  in  that  land.  And  now  she 
was  an  orphan  and,  suddenly,  a  widow  and  a  stranger 
in  the  beloved  country  of  her  adoption,  her  education, 
her  short  reign. 

Catherine  triumphantly  resumed  her  power,  as 
guardian  of  the  new  king,  Francis'  brother,  and  ban- 
ished Mary's  uncles  from  their  influential  stations  at 
court.  The  Queen  of  Scots  retired  to  a  private  coun- 
try residence,  and  there  relieved  her  sorrow  for  her 
lost  husband,  in  tears  or  in  sweet  poetry,  composed  to 
his  memory.  Monarch  still  of  her  native  mountains 
md  valleys,  and  only  eighteen  years  of  age,  her  hand 
was  sought  by  princes  and  kings  ;  but  she  would  en- 
tertain none  of  their  offers,  until  she  had  decided  her 
course  of  life.  This  was  too  apparent  to  be  doubted. 
Her  brother,  Lord  James,  on  behalf  of  the  Protestants, 
and  John  Lesly,  in  the  interest  of  the  Catholics,  came 


MARY   OF   SCOTLAND.  339 


from  Scotland,  to  secure  her  favor  for  their  respective 
parties,  and  to  hasten  her  return  tc  the  home  of  her  in- 
fancy. To  each  of  the  delegates,  she  replied  in  a  re- 
served and  prudent  manner — a  characteristic  that 
should  have  weight  in  judging  of  her  subsequect  all 
leged  intimacy  with  Me  notorious  Earl  of  Both  well, 
who,  it  is  noteworthy,  at  this  period  came  to  France, 
with  other  noblemen,  to  greet  their  sovereign. 

Previous  to  embarking,  Mary,  as  the  custom  was, 
sent  word  to  Elizabeth  of  England,  asking  permission 
to  pass  through  her  dominions.  Elizabeth  replied, 
through  her  ambassador,  that  she  would  give  a  pass 
only  on  condition  that  Mary  would  no  more  refuse  to 
sign  the  rejected  article  of  a  former  treaty,  which  was 
a  relinquishment  of  all  claim  to  the  English  crown. 
Mary's  refusal  of  this  repeated  demand,  as  well  as  her 
reply  to  other  messages,  touching  her  religious  position, 
are  preserved  at  full  length,  and  are  beautiful  exhibi- 
tions of  gentleness  and  candor  on  the  one  hand,  firm- 
ness, dignity  and  intelligence  on  the  other.  These  an- 
swers, added  to  the  personal  charms  and  Catholic  pred- 
ilections of  the  one  who  uttered  them,  so  incensed 
the  homely,  bitter  and  ambitious  spinster  who  wore  the 
British  diadem,  that  she  began  anew  to  excite  the  Scots 
against  their  sovereign  and  her  own  cousin,  and  sent 
out  a  fleet,  ostensibly  to  capture  pirates,  but  really  to 
intercept  and  seize  that  sovereign  and  relative,  on  her 
voyage  home. 

In  August,  1561,  she  set  sail  from  France,  having 
lingered  for  months  to  wean  her  heart,  if  possible,  from 
that  sunny  land,  and  to  overcome  her  very  natural 


840  MARY   OF   SCOTLAND. 


dread  of  the  country  of  her  parents'  past,  and  her  own 
anticipated,  trials.  The  French  court  accompanied  her 
to  Calais,  the  port  of  departure ;  Catherine  forgetting 
her  jealousies,  took  an  affectionate  leave  of  her  sad 
daughter-in-law ;  and  a  few  noblemen,  connections,  and 
literary  men,  set  sail  with  her  who  had  been  the  light 
of  the  palace,  the  pride  of  blood,  and  the  theme  of 
song.  Two  historians,  and  a  poet,  Chatelard,  after- 
wards a  miserable  actor  in  this  narrative,  were  of  the 
company.  As  Mary's  ship  weighed  anchor,  another, 
in  an  attempt  to  make  the  port,  was  wrecked  before 
her  weeping  eyes,  and  declared  by  her  to  be  an  evil 
omen.  To  the  last  moment  of  twilight,  she  sat  on 
deck,  gazing  in  steadfast  despair  at  the  home  of  her 
childhood  and  the  kingdom  of  her  splendid  nuptials ; 
tears  fell  unceasingly  from  her,  and  her  lips  constantly 
murmured — "  Farewell,  France !  farewell,  my  beloved 
country  1"  When  the  night  hid  the  shore,  she  gave 
way  to  louder  lamentation,  exclaiming, — "  The  dark- 
ness now  brooding  over  France  is  like  that  in  my 
heart;"  and  then,  refusing  to  enter  the  cabin,  she  slept 
on  deck,  awaiting  the  dawn's  earliest  light,  when  her 
attendants  had  promised  to  awake  her.  A  heavy  fog 
delayed  the  vessels,  and,  at  morning,  she  saw  again 
the  dear,  fading  hills,  and  wept  freshly,  saying,  "  Fare- 
well, beloved  France!     I  shall  never,  never  see  you 


more." 


On  the  voyage,  she  composed  a  famous  song,  which 
is  desecrated  by  any  attempt  to  translate  it  into  Eng 
lish  verse,  and  is  literally  this, — "  Adieu,  pleasant  land 
of  France  1     O  my  country,  the  most  dear,  which  uour- 


MARY   OF   SCOTLAND.  341 


ished  my  infancy.  Adieu,  Fiance !  adieu,  my  happy 
days!  The  ship  which  sunders  my  friendships,  has 
only  a  part  of  me  ;  one  part  remains  with  thee  ;  that  is 
thine  ;  I  trust  it  to  thy  affection  ;  and  for  this  do  thou 
remember  the  other!"  The  sweetness  of  the  French 
words  and  rhymes,  and,  as  in  the  "  pour  ma  patrie"  of 
the  Marseilles  Hymn,  the  very  prepositions,  to  an  Eng- 
lish ear,  give  the  language  a  mournful  effect.  The 
young  American  poet,  Ellsworth,  exquisitely  conveys 
the  spirit  of  the  scene,  without  reference  to  the  words 
of  the  original  song,  in  these  lines : — 

••  Wooed  in  the  may -day  of  my  prime. 

And  won  by  love  to  warmer  earth, 
How  can  I  seek,  in  Scotia's  clime, 

Again,  aloue,  a  sullen  hearth. 
But  France  is  now  for  other  eyes, 
And  unto  me  are  other  skies  ; 

O  never  shall  a  ship  convey 

A  sadder  wanderer  away  ! 

Behind,  the  shore  distinct  and  bright, 

Extends  a  farewell  arm  to  me , 
Before  me  is  the  drooping  light, 

The  sunset,  and  the  misty  sea  • 
And  thus,  in  gloom  and  doubt,  decays, 
To  me,  the  light  of  gloi-ious  days. 

When  Love,  to  France,  with  Francis  flew. 

Adieu,  adieu  1  ah  me  1 — adieu  1" 

The  ships,  propelled  by  sails  or  oars,  according  aa 
the  wind  blew  or  not,  and  built  with  high  prows  and 
sterns,  like  the  ancient  galleys — reached  Scotland, 
August  20th,  1561.  On  the  way  a  heavy  mist  alone 
prevented  a  capture  by  the  English  c  -uisers,  who.  as  it 


342  MARY  OF  SCOTLAND. 


was,  found  and  seized  one  of  the  vessels,  containing 
Mary's  furniture.  A  dense  fog,  like  that  which  shroud- 
ed the  French  coast,  and  likewise  interpreted  as  an  evil 
sign  by  the  queen,  misled  her  mariners,  so  that  the}/ 
were  nearly  wrecked  on  the  rocks  of  the  Scottish  shore. 
The  disheartened  Mary  declared  that  she  had  no  wish 
to  escape  wreck,  or  the  chains  of  English  imprison- 
ment, so  cheerless  seemed  her  future  residence  in  the 
stern  land  of  her  fathers. 

The  voyage  had  been  conducted  with  enough  secrecy 
to  surprise  the  Scots  by  the  sudden  arrival  of  their  ad- 
mired queen.  They  were  wholly  unprepared  to  do  fit- 
ting honor  to  the  occasion ;  but  were  delighted  with 
the  return  of  their  renowned  ruler,  especially  with  the 
fact  that  she  so  trusted  them  as  to  appear  with  no  arm- 
ed escort.  Forthwith  the  population  of  Edinburgh  ar- 
rayed themselves  according  to  their  trades,  along  the 
road  to  the  port  of  Leith ;  and  horses,  poor  in  breed 
and  array,  compared  with  the  superb  ones  Mary  had 
been  accustomed  to  see,  were  brought  to  receive  the 
royal  party.  Shouts  of  applause  rent  the  air,  bonfires 
and  illuminations  shone  everywhere,  and,  after  the 
new-comers  had  been  established  in  Holyrood  palace, 
all  the  musicians  in  the  city  made  the  whole  night 
hideous  with  inharmonious  sounds,  among  which  a 
party  of  covenanters,  too  strict  to  play  on  profane  in- 
struments and  too  loyal  to  be  silent,  mingled  their  loud 
hymns.  Knox,  the  great  yet  violent  Eeformer,  records 
that  "  so  soon  as  ever  her  French  fillocks,  fiddlers,  and 
others  of  that  kind,  got  the  house  alone,  there  might 
be  seen  skipping  not  very  comely  for  honest  women. 


MARY   OF   SCOTLAND.  843 


tier  common  talk  was,  in  secret,  that  she  saw  nothing 
in  Scotland  but  gravity,  which  was  altogether  repug- 
nant to  her  nature,  for  she  was  brought  up  in  joyeu- 
sitye." 

The  intolerance  which  the  Eeformers,  in  those  times, 
had  learned  from  the  Papists  themselves,  was  signally 
illustrated  the  next  Sunday  after  Mary's  arrival.  She 
had  announced  her  intention  to  be  present  at  high-mass 
in  the  chapel  of  Holyrood  House.  This  ceremony  the 
Protestants  had  forbidden  throughout  the  realm  ;  and 
now  they  assembled  in  great  numbers,  and  would  have 
rushed  into  the  assembly  to  expel  the  priests,  had  not 
Lord  James,  himself  a  Protestant,  stood  at  the  door 
and  quieted  the  tumult.  On  the  next  Sunday,  Knox 
thundered  from  his  pulpit  against  the  idolatries  of 
Kome  ;  but  he  himself  had  not  become  so  enlightened 
as  to  inveigh  also  against  the  grand  banquet,  given  on 
the  same  holy  day,  by  the  city  to  the  queen,  at  Edin- 
burgh castle,  on  her  way  to  which  she  was  grieved  as 
on  many  other  occasions,  by  public  exhibitions  in  ridi- 
cule of  her  religion.  It  speaks  volumes  in  her  praise, 
that  she  manifested,  through  all  her  life,  a  liberality 
and  moderation,  quite  in  contrast  with  the  spirit  of  all 
religious  parties,  in  that  age.  She  conceded  so  far,  in- 
deed, as  to  invite  into  her  presence  the  great  Keformer, 
who  had  not  concealed  his  opposition  to  her;  and 
though,  in  his  mistaken  conscientiousness,  to  use  the 
most  charitable  word,  he  uttered  disrespectful  and  in- 
delicate language  in  her  ears,  she  was  no  less  calm  and 
forbearing,  than  shrewd  and  ready  in  her  rephes.  This 
scene,  as  well  as  the  mob  at  Holyrood  chapel,  has  been 


344  MARY   OF  SCOTLAND. 


worthily  painted  by  American  artists, — ^Leutze  ana 
Rotliermel. 

The  privy  council  soon  formed,  was  made  up  of  the 
great  earls  of  both  parties,  and  whose  musical  names, 
as  handed  down  in  their  proud  titles,  are  familiar  to 
all  readers  of  Scottish  history  and  poetry.  Lord  James, 
who  was  now  made  Earl  of  Mar  and  afterwards  Earl  of 
Murray — a  handsome,  stern,  sagacious  man  of  thirty- 
one  years,  stood  highest  in  the  government,  and  exert- 
ed the  most  influence  over  the  queen  on  the  one  hand, 
and  the  new  church  on  the  other.  He  and  others  in 
power  are  accused  of  paying  deference  to  the  secret 
plottings  of  Elizabeth  of  England,  who  thus  made 
trouble  for  Mary  unceasingly,  but  could  not  turn  that 
tide  of  popular  admiration  for  her  person,  not  her  faitli, 
which  followed  her  everywhere.  She  journeyed,  about 
this  time,  with  her  lords  and  ladies,  to  the  palace 
of  Linlithgow  and  Stirling  castle,  the  scenes  of  her  in- 
fancy ;  and  to  other  places,  among  them  Falkland, 
where  her  father  had  died.  At  Stirling  she  had  a  nar- 
row escape  from  death,  her  bed  having  caught  fire  from 
a  candle;  and  at  Perth  she  fainted  at  the  shocking 
means  taken  by  the  crowd  to  show  that  their  enthusias- 
tic loyalty  did  not  imply  any  complacency  towards  her 
belief.  The  tour  was  made  on  horseback,  there  being 
but  one  wheeled  vehicle  in  the  realm — a  chariot  brought 
from  England  by  Mary's  grandmother,  which  would 
have  been  useless  without  better  roads  than  were  then 
anywhere  to  be  found. 

On  her  return  to  the  capital,  the  young  queen,  still 
in  her  nineteenth  year,  was  further  provoked  by  a  city 


MARY    OF   SCOTLAND.  ■  346 


proclamation,  classing  the  papist  clergy  with  outcasts 
of  society,  and  expelling  them  from  the  town,  "under 
pain  of  carting  through  the  town,  burning  on  the  cheek, 
and  perpetual  banishment."  The  French  nobles  and 
courtiers,  who  had  accompanied  Mary  to  Scotland, 
were  quite  disgusted  by  all  these  "  savage"  proceed- 
ings, as  they  deemed  them,  and,  one  after  another,  left 
the  country. 

Many  suitors  now  sent  their  envoys  to  propose  a 
marriage  with  the  royal  widow ;  among  them  were  Don 
Carlos  of  Spain,  Archduke  Charles  of  Austria,  the 
King  of  Sweden,  the  Duke  of  Ferrara,  and  the  Prince 
of  Conde.  Two  Scotsmen  of  rank  added  themselves 
to  these,  the  Earl  of  Arran,  the  partly  insane  son  of  the 
regent  of  that  name  in  Mary's  infancy,  and  Sir  John 
Gordon,  a  man  of  noble  appearance  and  the  second  son 
of  Earl  Huntly,  who  was  leader  of  the  Romish  party. 
There  is  no  evidence  that  she  favored  the  addresses  of 
the  latter;  the  former  she  certainly  disliked,  and  all 
the  more  on  account  of  a  report  that  he  had  conspired 
to  seize  the  queen,  and  carry  her  to  Dumbarton  castle, 
whereby  great  alarm  was  excited  at  Holyrood. 

It  was  a  turbulent  period,  and,  no  sooner  had  this 
fear  been  allayed,  than  a  party  of  base  noblemen,  led 
by  Bothwell,  assaulted  the  house  of  a  merchant,  whose 
daughter  was  supposed  to  be  intimate  witli  Arran ;  the 
offence  was  repeated,  notwithstanding  the  queen's  re- 
buke; a  great  mob  was  occasioned,  which  was  dis- 
persed, and  Bothwell  disgraced  by  the  court. 

A  more  serious  disturbance  followed  on  the  heels  of 
this.     The  Earl  of  Arran,  through  timidity  or  remorse. 


846  MARY   OF   SCOTLAND. 


disclosed  a  plot  of  himself,  his  father,  together  with 
Bothwell,  Huntly  and  his  son  Lord  Gordon,  to  shoot 
Lord  James  while  hunting  with  the  queen  ;  the  motive 
was  alleged  to  be  a  fear  that  the  royal  heirship  of  the 
Hamiltons  (of  which  family  was  Arran)  would  be  set 
aside,  and  a  desire  to  give  the  Catholics  greater  influ- 
ence in  the  government.  Whether  this  story  of  the 
half-crazy  Arran  were  wholly  true  or  not,  he  and  Both- 
well  were  arrested  ;  but  inasmuch  as  so  many  of  rank 
were  implicated  and  so  little  proof  could  be  found 
ao-ainst  them,  the  queen  was  contented  to  take  posses- 
sion of  Dumbarton,  and  hold  Bothwell  in  prison ;  from 
this  he  escaped  and  remained  abroad  two  years. 

No  man  is  either  wholly  an  angel  or  a  demon ;  and 
this  plausible  attempt  at  his  very  life,  may  explain 
something  of  the  young  Lord  James'  subsequent  wicked, 
merciless  and  successful  scheme  to  extinguish  Huntly — 
a  scheme  strangely  prefaced  by  the  sumptuous  festivities 
and  humanizing  joys  of  his  own  marriage  with  a  daugh- 
ter of  the  Earl  of  Marschall.  This  occurred  i  n  February 
1562  ;  in  August  the  iniquitous  plan  was  executed. 

The  Earl  of  Huntly  was  the  most  powerful  baron 
in  the  north  of  Scotland ;  he  had  been  a  devoted  and 
honored  friend  of  Mary's  father  and  mother,  and  to  the 
last  breath  evinced  himself  a  high-minded  and  faithful 
subject  to  herself.  But  Lord  James,  who  had  already 
effected  the  downfall  of  the  Hamiltons  and  others  who 
stood  in  the  way  of  his  unscrupulous  ambition,  was 
determined  to  ruin  the  earl ;  and  the  Protestants  gene- 
rally, from  less  personal  motives,  had  long  wished  such 
a  result.     Lord  James  was  in  reality  king,  and  Mary 


MARY   OF  SCOTLAND.  341 


his  deceive  1  instrument;  from  her  he  had  secured  the 
Earldom  of  Mar,  the  benefits  of  which  had  hitherto  ac- 
crued to  Huntly;  and  now  he  privately  obtained  a 
grant  of  the  revenues  and  title  of  the  Earldom  of  Mur- 
ray, which  were  decreed  for  a  term  of  years  to  the 
family  of  Huntly.  The  first  step  was  sufficiently  ex- 
asperating to  the  old  northern  baron,  who  did  not  sus- 
pect that  such  a  second  step  had  been  taken.  But  an 
affray,  brought  on  by  the  question  of  this  latter  earl- 
dom, happened  between  two  members  of  the  family,  m 
the  streets  of  Edinburgh ;  this  gave  occasion  to  James 
to  persecute  one  of  the  actors  in  the  affray — Sir  John 
Gordon,  and  thus  offend  his  father,  Earl  Huntly,  still 
more  deeply. 

He  next  prevailed  on  the  queen  to  make  a  tour 
through  her  dominions,  including  the  estates  of  the 
earl ;  and  there  he  sought  both  to  alarm  her  with  the 
falsely -reported  treason  of  Huntly,  and  to  so  "  beard 
the  lion  in  his  den,"  by  slights  and  injuries,  for  which 
Mary  should  seem  resjjonsible,  that  he  would  be  driven 
to  rebellion.  The  earl  and  his  heroic  wife,  in  various 
ways  proved  their  loyalty  ;  but  he  was  at  last  forced  to 
an  unequal  encounter  with  James'  troops,  and  nobly 
refusing  to  fly,  was  taken  and  fell  dead  from  his  horse, 
so  great  was  his  indignant  grief  at  the  manifest  over- 
throw of  himself  and  his  ancient  house. 

The  faithful,  brave  heart  of  the  old  man  was  broken, 
and  he  was  no  more.  Yet  James,  now  openly  Earl  of 
Murray,  pursued  his  unrelenting  ambition  and  ven- 
geance. He  procured  the  death-warrant  of  the  son, 
John  Gordon,  who  was  beheaded  before  the  queen's 


848  MARY   OF  SCOTLAND. 


eyes;  she  wept  and  fainted  as  the  axe  descended  on 
her  former  admired  suitor,  against  whom  history  writes 
no  blame.  The  other  son  she  wo  aid  not  condemn  to 
death,  though  he  would  have  fallen  a  victim  had  not 
:i  forged  death-warrant,  prepared  by  James,  Earl  of 
Murray,  been  detected  in  season  ;  he  lived  to  recover 
the  castles  and  estates  of  his  father,  which  were  now, 
by  all  this  triumphant  course  of  villainy,  in  the  hands 
of  Murray  and  his  adherents. 

Mary  is  to  be  blamed  only  as  a  woman  too  honest  to 
suspect  so  stupendous  plots,  and  as  one  unfortunate  in 
her  period  and  position.  Perhaps  she  failed  to  assert 
her  better  discernment  and  feelings.  She  had  as  much 
intelligence  and  tenderness,  as  she  had  of  that  manly 
courage  which  led  her  to  scorn  all  supposed  danger, 
and,  on  this  same  infernal  expedition,  to  regret  that 
"  she  was  not  a  man,  to  know  what  life  it  was  to  lie  all 
night  in  the  fields,  or  to  walk  upon  the  causeway  with 
a  jack  and  knapsack,  a  Glasgow  buckler  and  a  broad- 
sword." But  she  was  deluded  by  the  seeming  aus- 
tere integrity  of  her  half-brother,  this  Lord  James — 
Earl  of  Murray ;  nor  was  it  her  only  misfortune  to 
blindly  aid  his  aspiring  designs ;  she  was  thus  also  ex- 
posing herself  to  the  machinations  of  Queen  Elizabeth, 
with  whom  Murray  maintained  a  most  detestable  and 
traitorous  understanding.  Evidently  he  would  have 
stopped  short  of  nothing  between  himself  and  his  sister's 
crown ;  and,  possibly,  he  made  his  reckless  course  a 
matter  of  piety,  for  the  same  Papacy  which  he  opposed, 
had  taught  him,  as  it  has  taught  others  in  all  times. 
the  Satanic  doctrine  that  the  end  sanctifies  the  means. 


MARY    OF   SCOTLAND.  349 


Afl<;r  these  exciting  scenes,  two  years  of  peace  to 
Mary  and  her  kingdom  ensued.  Her  quiet  was,  how- 
ever, invaded  by  the  presumption  of  a  French  poet  of 
fortune  and  family,  Chatelard,  who  was  one  of  her 
numerous  escort  to  Scotland,  and  who  now  wentthithei- 
again,  to  urge  the  suit  of  his  patron,  the  Duke  Danville. 
He  was  pleasing,  accomplished,  and  a  grandnephew  of 
Chevalier  Bayard.  The  queen,  being  fond  of  poetry, 
and  not  averse  to  the  customary  glowing  compliments 
of  courtiers,  received  his  laudatory  effusions  with  favor, 
and  even  replied  to  them  in  verse.  In  iliis,  she  was 
no  doubt  culpable ;  she  could  have  gratified  and  en- 
couraged his  poetic  nature,  and  yet  have  kept  him  at 
a  suitable  distance,  until  the  danger  or  safety  of  his 
temperament  was  fully  apparent.  Her  whole  life  was 
a  training  to  discretion,  while  his  vocation  was  to  give 
free  flow  to  feeling  and  impulse.  He  introduced  him- 
self into  her  bed-chamber,  was  discovered  and  ejected, 
with  a  severe  rebuke ;  but,  soon  after,  repeated  the  of- 
fence, when  Mary  called  Murray  to  her  assistance,  and 
Chatelard  was  seized,  tried  and  executed.  On  the 
scaffold  ho  looked  towards  her  window,  and  exclaimed, 
"  Farewell,  loveliest  and  most  cruel  princess  whom  the 
world  couvains."  Nothing  but  a  blind  zeal  or  mere 
malignity  can  accuse  the  queen  of  more  than  impru 
dence  in  this  sad  affair.     Chatelard  merited  his  fate. 

During  these  two  years  of  peace,  Knox,  also,  con- 
tinued to  annoy  Mary  by  his  irritating  personalities  in 
preaching,  his  seditious  opposition,  and  his  bitter  re- 
marks when  admitted  to  her  presence.  For  the  most 
part  he  may  have  acted  from  a  mistaken  sense  of  duty ; 


350  MARY   OF  SCOTLAND. 


but  be  too  often  exhibited  tlie  strange  mixture  of  art- 
fulness  with  conscientiousness,  pecuhar  to  his  nation, 
to  be  set  down  as  a  blundering  zealot.  Much  is  to  bo 
pardoned  to  his  times ;  yet,  in  the  queen  herself,  he 
had  an  example  of  calm  charity,  even  in  that  day  of 
persecution.  Mary  endeavored  to  conciliate  him  by 
gentle  words ;  nevertheless,  after  she  had  opened  her 
first  parliament  with  a  befitting  display  of  royalty,  he 
and  his  brethren  denounced  in  public  the  "superfluity 
of  clothes  and  vanity"  of  their  sovereign  and  her  ladies  ; 
and  Knox  boldly  attacked  her  governmental  acts,  be- 
cause they  were  not  in  form,  as  well  as  substance,  what 
he  desired.  Called  to  an  interview  with  her,  he  threw 
her  into  excessive  weeping  by  his  blunt  severity,  until 
she  could  abide  his  presence  no  longer. 

She  saw  him  but  once  again,  and  then  he  was  on 
trial  for  treason,  a  few  weeks  subsequently  to  the  au- 
dience granted  him.  Two  rioters,  out  of  many  who 
had  been  disturbing  the  services  at  Holy  rood  chapel, 
were  imprisoned,  and  Knox,  to  save  them,  wrote  let- 
ters to  all  the  leaders  of  his  party,  in  order  to  assemble 
a  crowd  that  would  terrify  the  magistrates  into  an  ac- 
quittal of  the  rioters.  This  was  a  treasonable  infraction 
of  an  express  law,  recently  passed.  But  the  Reformer 
was  pronounced  innocent  by  the  Protestant  majority 
of  the  royal  council. 

Such  were  the  winds  thai  i: .  ^.-...-  ^  rufiied  the  se- 
renity of  Mary's  life,  during  the  two  years  of  lull  that 
preceded  her  stormier  days.  She  spent  this  time  in 
journeying  through  the  western  and  southern  parts  of 
Scotland,  and  making  a  second  progress  through  the 


MAKY   OF   SCOTLAND.  351 


wilder  Morth.  Her  ordinary  life  was  varied  by  the  du- 
ties of  her  office,  and  every  study  and  amusement  that 
could  adorn  her  gifts.  Kising  before  light  in  the  morn- 
ing, her  first  hours  were  given  to  her  privy-council 
before  whose  august  members  she  sat,  needle- work  in 
hand,  giving  and  receiving  advice.  She  was  a  great 
lover  of  history  and  the  classics,  in  the  reading  of 
which,  especially  the  works  of  Livy,  she  passea  an 
hour  or  two,  each  day,  after  dinner.  For  the  study  of 
geography  and  astronomy,  she  had  the  advantage  of 
the  first  globes  ever  introduced  into  Scotland. 

Gardens  were  her  delight,  and  were  attached  to  her 
six  chief  places  of  residence.  Holyrood  had  two;  but, 
not  satisfied  with  so  limited  exercise  as  these  afforded, 
she  often  walked  to  Arthur's  Seat,  or  along  the  Salis- 
bury crags,  which  overlook  Edinburgh.  The  in-door 
confinement,  varied  only  by  short,  slow  walks  abroad, 
which  is  the  greatest  curse  of  American  women,  never 
enfeebled  Mary's  strength,  or  paled  her  bright  cheek ; 
in  the  fresh  air  she  practised  with  the  cross-bow,  or 
rode,  hawked  and  hunted,  or  walked  miles  together, 
like  her  later  countrywomen.  At  home,  she  danced, 
sang,  played  on  the  lute  and  virginal,  or  assisted  in  the 
masks  that  were  customary.  One  of  these  is  described  ,• 
at  a  feast,  during  the  first  course,  a  Cupid  entered  and 
sang  Italian  verses,  accompanied  by  a  chorus  ;  during 
the  second  course,  a  young  maiden  sang  Latin  verses ; 
at  the  third,  a  person  in  the  character  of  Father  Time, 
appeared  and  offered  his  parting  advice.  The  queen 
had  always  at  hand  a  company  of  musicians,  who  sang, 
or  played  the  viol,  lute,  and  organ.     To  her  chapel 


352  MARY    fiF   SCOTLAND. 


music,  she  added,  strangely  enough,  a  military  band, 
with  bagpipes  and  drums. 

Elizabeth  of  England  had  an  endless  wardrobe ;  but 
Mary's,  though  rich,  was  not  extravagant.  We  are 
told  that  "  her  common  wearing  gowns,  as  long  as  she 
continued  in  mourning,  which  was  till  the  day  of  her 
second  marriage,  were  either  made  of  camlet  or  damis, 
or  serge  of  Florence,  bordered  with  black  velvet.  Her 
riding  habits  were  mostly  of  serge  of  Florence,  stiffened 
in  the  neck  and  body  with  buckram,  and  trimmed  with 
lace  and  ribands.  In  the  matter  of  shoes  and  stockings 
she  seems  to  have  been  remarkably  well  supplied.  She 
had  thirty-six  pair  of  velvet  shoes,  laced  with  gold, 
silver,  and  silk,  and  three  pair  woven  of  worsted  of 
Guernsay.  Silk  stockings  were  then  a  rarity.  The 
first  pair  worn  in  England  were  sent  as  a  present  from 
France  to  Elizabeth.  Six  pair  of  gloves  of  worsted  of 
Guernsay,  are  also  mentioned  in  the  catalogue,  still  ex- 
isting, of  Mary's  wardrobe.  She  was  fond  of  tapestry, 
and  had  the  walls  of  her  chambers  hung  with  the  rich- 
est specimens  of  it  she  could  bring  from  France.  She 
had  not  much  plate,  but  she  had  a  profusion  of  rare 
and  valuable  jewels.  Her  cloth  of  gold,  her  Turkey 
carpets,  her  beds  and  coverlids,  her  table-cloths,  her 
crystal,  her  chairs  and  footstools,  covered  with  velvet, 
and  garnished  with  fringes,  were  all  celebrated  in  the 
gossiping  chronicles  of  the  day." 

Indeed,  Mary's  reign  was  a  new  era  of  refinement 
and  politeness  in  wild,  rough  Scotland.  Her  sweet 
manners  and  charming  conversation  and  cultivated 
tastes  soon  elevated  the  tone  of  her  court  to  that  of 


MARY    OF  SCOTLAND.  863 


any  European  capital.  We  know  not  how  much  the 
present  culture  and  elegance  of  the  land  of  Wilson  and 
Macaulay,  are  due  to  the  influence  of  Mary.  Nor,  with 
all  her  expensive  tastes,  did  sne  forget  the  duties  of 
charity.  To  all  the  poor  she  was  a  mother,  herself 
directing  the  education  of  many  po(;r  children,  and 
often  personally  watching  the  courts,  where  she  main- 
tained a  lawyer  to  defend  those  who  could  not  pay  an 
advocate.  Two  priests,  also,  were  employed  by  her  to 
distribute  alms  constantly  to  all  the  needy. 

In  the  year  1565,  Henry  Stuart,  Lord  Darnley, 
went  from  England  to  Scotland,  and,  with  his  ad- 
vent, commenced  the  great  troubles  of  the  Queen  of 
Scots.  Elizabeth  had  already  begun  her  course  of  pre- 
meditated mischief  in  the  matter  of  Mary's  marriage, 
having  insultingly  proposed  her  own  polluted  f;ivorite, 
Dudley,  whom  she  had  made  earl,  as  a  husband  for  a 
pure-blooded,  and  pure-minded  sovereign,  and  know- 
ing the  offer  would  be  rejected.  Mary  had  declined 
many  proposed  alliances  with  the  most  powerful  prin- 
ces of  the  continent,  in  a  spirit  of  kind  concession  to 
England.  She  now  turned  her  thoughts  to  her  cousin 
Darnley,  who,  next  to  her,  was  heir  presumptive  to 
Elizabeth's  crown,  whenever  it  should  be  vacated  by 
death;  and  the  English  queen,  guessing  the  intention, 
not  only  permitted  Darnley  to  go,  but  recornmendeJ 
him  to  Mary's  favor,  in  order  that  she  might  interfere 
afterwards  and  break  off  the  match  by  a  civil  war  in 
Scotland.  In  this  she  overshot  her  mark,  as  the  event 
proved,  though  it  would  have  been  well  for  our  hero- 
ine, if  the  attempt  to  foil  her  purpose,  had  succeeded. 


23 


354  ilAKY    OF   SCOTLAND. 


Darnle}'  was  four  years  younger  than  Mary,  who 
was  now  a  little  more  than  twenty-two.  Though  so 
young,  he  was  mature  in  his  appearance,  being  uncom- 
monly tall  and  well-proportioned.  His  features  were 
regular,  his  movements  graceful,  his  address  winning, 
and  his  presence  altogether  full  of  fascination.  In  his 
childhood  he  had  displayed  a  precocious  mind,  as  a 
letter  still  preserved,  and  a  written  story  of  his,  spoken 
of,  may  testify.  His  mother  had  always  been  ambi- 
tious to  have  this  mutch  take  place.  His  father,  the 
Earl  of  Lennox,  as  before  mentioned,  had  been  banish- 
ed from  Scotland,  and  his  estates  confiscated.  He  was 
now  reinstated  in  his  forfeited  honors,  and  his  son 
Darnley,  following  him,  reached  Wemys  castle,  near 
Edinburgh,  on  the  north  shore  of  the  Frith  of  Forth, 
where  Mary  was  then  sojourning. 

She  had  every  reason  of  policy  for  accepting  him ; 
she  found  him,  as  she  remarked,  "  the  lustiest  and 
best-proportioned  long  man  she  had  seen  ;"  he  behaved 
well,  on  first  acquaintance  ;  and  he  exhibited  the  ac- 
complishments, and  professed  the  tastes,  that  might 
win  her  regard.  Never  was  there  a  prospect  of  a  more 
fitting  and  happy  union.  He  could  not  conceal  entirely 
his  boyish  opinions  and  rash  arrogancy ;  but  these 
were  naturally  imputed  to  his  youth.  He  courted  the 
Reform  party;  the  nobles  generally  welcomed  with 
gladness  any  one  who  would  supplant  Murray  in  au- 
thority ;  and  Darnley's  mother  had  taken  care  to  send 
presents — "  to  the  queen  a  ring  with  a  fair  diamont ; 
ane  emerald  to  my  Lord  of  Murray ;  ane  orloge  or 
montre  (watch)  set  with  diamonts  and,  rubies,  to  the 


MARY   OF   SCOTLAND.  855 


Secretary  Lethington ;  u  ring  witli  a  ruby  to  my 
brother  Sir  Eobert ;  for  she  was  still  in  good  hope  that 
her  son,  my  Lord  Darnley,  should  come  better  speed 
than  the  Earl  of  Leceister,  anent  the  marriage  with  the 
queen."  But  more  favorable  to  his  suit  than  "  dia- 
monts"  were  the  measles  and  ague  that  opportunely 
attacked  this  "long  man,"  and  demanded  Mary's  nurs- 
ing care,  and  excited  in  her  that  "  pity  which  is  akin 
to  love." 

When  her  mind  was  fully  made  up,  she  first  inti- 
mated it  to  Darnley,  who,  unlike  the  modern  Prince 
Albert,  had  not  awaited  a  queen's  proposal,  and  of 
course  was  silenced  until  she  offered  herself  Next, 
she  sought  the  concurrence  of  her  "good  cousin"  EHz- 
abeth,  who  foi-thwith  refused  it  in  ])eremptory  terms. 
Mary  replied  that  she  had  only  made  known  her  inde- 
pendent intention,  as  an  act  of  courtesy,  and  did  not 
beg  any  consent.  Elizabeth  proceeded  to  excite  the 
discontent  of  Mary's  subjects,  particularly  Murray,  and, 
having  imprisoned  Darnley's  mother,  commanded  hirh- 
self  and  his  father  to  return  to  England.  Lennox  made 
answer  that  the  air  of  England  did  not  agree  with  his 
health ;  and  his  son,  more  plainly,  sent  word  that  he 
considered  himself  subject  to  Mary's  word  alone. 

But  the  trouble  which  Elizabeth  had  been  brewing, 
began  to  develop  itself  The  leading  nobles  of  the 
Scottish  court  openly  opposed  the  marriage,  and  Mur- 
ray commenced  in  good  earnest  to  set  a  rebellion  on 
foot,  with  the  purpose  of  seizing  his  sovereign's  per- 
son, and  himself  assuming  the  government.  She  was, 
la  company  with  her  intended  husband,  to  attend  the 


\  ">' 


So6  MABY   OF   SCOTLAND. 


baptism  of  a  child  of  Lord  Livingston,  The  conspiriug 
lords  were  to  waylay  her  on  the  road  she  was  to  travel ; 
but  she  learned  the  plot  in  season  to  provide  a  power- 
ful escort,  and  to  pass  by  the  ambush  so  early  that  her 
enemies  were  unprepared  to  intercept  her. 

^Another  attempt  to  provoke  disturbance  was  made 
at  Edinburgh,  under  the  cloak  of  religion;  it  was  frus- 
trated, however,  by  the  timely  arrival  and  activity  of 
the  queen.  Next,  on  the  17th  of  July,  Murray  and 
his  accessories  boldly  proclaimed  civil  war,  at  Stirling 
castle,  and  sent  to  England  for  money.  Mary's  wis- 
dom, courage  and  diligence  now  shone  forth  in  her 
measures  to  meet  this  rebellion ;  her  nature  was  one 
that  difficulties  brought  out  in  its  strength,  instead  of 
overpowering  it.  Her  administration  had  been  mild 
and  acceptable  ;  the  majority  of  the  people  were  at- 
tached to  her ;  and  many  men  of  rank  rallied  around 
her  in  this  emergency.  But  to  anticipate  any  unfore- 
seen calamity  and  to  take  away  the  excuse  for  treason- 
able acts,  she  hastened  to  consummate  her  union  with 
Darn  ley. 

The  marriage  was  ,«olemnized  on  Sunday,  July  29th, 
1565,  in  the  Holyrood  chapel,  according  to  the  Catho 
lie  ceremony,  John  SincUir,  bishop  of  Brechin,  officiat- 
ing. "It  was  generally  remarked,"  says  Bell,  "that 
a  handsomer  couple  had  n^iver  been  seen  in  Scotland. 
Mary  was  now  twenty-three,  and  at  the  very  height  of 
her  beauty,  and  Darnley,  though  only  nineteen,  was 
of  a  more  manly  person  and  appearance  than  his  ago 
could  have  indicated.  The  festivities  were  certainly 
not  such  as  had  attended  the  queen's  first  marriage, 


MARY   OF  SCOTLAND.  357 


for  the  elegancies  of  life  were  not  understood  in  Scot- 
land as  in  France ;  and,  besides,  it  was  a  time  of  trou- 
ble when  armed  men  were  obliged  to  stand  round  the 
altar.  Nevertheless,  all  due  observances  and  rejoic- 
ings lent  a  dignity  to  the  occasion.  Mary,  in  a  flowing 
robe  of  black,  with  a  wide  mourning  hood,  was  led  into 
the  chapel  by  the  Earls  of  Lennox  and  Athol,  who, 
having  conducted  her  to  the  altar,  retired  to  bring  in 
the  bridegroom.  The  bishop  havmg  united  them  in 
the  presence  of  a  great  attendance  of  lords  and  ladies, 
three  rings  were  put  on  the  queen's  finger — the  middle 
one  a  rich  diamond.  They  then  knelt  together,  and 
many  prayers  were  said  over  them.  At  the  conclusion, 
Darnley  kissed  his  bride,  and  as  he  did  not  himself 
profess  the  Catholic  fiith,  left  her  till  she  should  hear 
mass.  She  was  afterwards  followed  by  most  of  the 
company  to  her  own  apartments,  where  she  laid  aside 
her  sable  garments,  to  intimate  that  henceforth,  as  the 
wife  of  another,  she  would  forget  the  grief  occasioned 
bv  the  loss  of  her  first  husband.  In  observance  of  an 
old  custom,  as  many  of  the  lords  as  could  approach 
near  enough,  were  permitted  to  assist  in  unrobing  her, 
by  taking  out  a  pin.  She  was  then  committed  to  her 
ladies,  who,  having  attired  her  with  becoming  splendor, 
brought  her  to  the  ball-room,  where  there  was  great 
cheer  and  dancing  till  dinner-time.  At  dinner,  Darn- 
ley  appeared  in  his  royal  robes;  and  after  a  great 
flourish  of  trumpets,  largess  was  proclaimed  among  the 
multitude  who  surrounded  the  palace.  The  Earls  of 
Athol,  Morton,  and  Crawford  attended  the  queen  as 
sewer,  carver,  and  cup-bearer;  and  the  Earls  of  Egling- 


858  MARY   OF   SCOTLAND. 


ton,  Cassilis,  and  Glencairn  performed  the  like  officea 
for  Darnley.  When  dinner  was  over,  the  dancing  was 
renewed  till  supper-time,  soon  after  which  the  company 
retired  for  the  night." 

Further  messages  were  now  exchanged  between  the 
neighboring  queens,  resulting  only  in  further  display 
of  the  envious  hypocrisy  of  the  one,  and  the  straight- 
forward intelligence  of  the  other.  Mary's  honeymoon 
was  full  of  vexatious  diplomacy  and  military  prepara- 
tions. The  Earls  Bothwell  and  Sutherland  were,  of 
necessity,  recalled  from  banishment ;  and  Lord  Gordon 
recovered  the  titles  and  possessions  wrested  from  his 
father  by  the  grasping  Murray.  The  queen  appointed 
a  new  provost  at  Edinburgh,  in  place  of  the  unreliable 
one ;  and,  summoning  her  subjects  to  arms,  marched 
to  Linlithgow,  to  Stirling  and  to  Glasgow,  her  force  ac- 
cumulating at  every  step. 

Murray,  with  an  army  of  twelve  hundred  was  at 
Paisley,  five  miles  from  Glasgow,  but,  fearing  an  en- 
counter, hastened  to  Edinburgh,  there  to  find  that  his 
selfish  motives  were  well-known,  and  hardly  one  per- 
son ready  to  assist  him.  Thither  the  royal  army,  now 
numbering  5,000,  returned  in  pursuit,  and  Murray  hur- 
ried, at  its  approach,  back  to  the  vicinity  of  Glasgow, 
whither  the  queen  again  marched  so  immediately  that 
Murray  retired  to  the  southern  border,  where,  through 
the  EngUsh  Earl  of  Bedford,  he  received  three  thousand 
pounds  and  three  hundred  men  from  Elizabeth,  who, 
with  brazen  deceit,  had  just  assured  Mary  of  her  good- 
will. The  latter  put  forth  a  proclamation  in  which  the 
real  designs  of  Murray  were  set  forth  in  plain  words 


MARY    OF   SCOTLAND. 


359 


18,000  soldiers  soon  gathered  to  her  aid;  the  rebels 
fled  from  their  approach  and  finally  dispersed,  leaving 
their  leaders  to  take  refuge  in  England.     For  a  long 
time  Elizabeth  did  not  permit  Murray  to  come  into 
her  presence,  and  at  last  made  him  and  the  Abbot  of 
Kilwinning,  on  their  knees  and  in  the  presence  of  the 
French  and  Spanish  ambassadors,  declare  that  she  her- 
self had  taken  no  part  in  the  Scottish  rebellion,— to 
such  degradation  were  the  traitors  compelled,  instead 
of  reaping  their  expected  reward.     After  this,   they 
lived  at  Newcastle  for  some  time,  in  want  and  neglect. 
In  this  campaign,  the  Queen  of  Scots,  by  common 
consent,  exhibited  great  executive  talent  and  admirable 
spirit.     She  "  rode  with  her  officers  in  a  suit  of  light 
armor,  carrying  pistols  at  her  saddle-bow."     And  Knox 
himself  confesses  that  "  her  courage  was  manlike,  and 
always  increasing." 

The  revolt,  thus  suppressed,  was  but  the  prelude  of 
Mary's  henceforth  uninterrupted  misfortunes,  all  of 
which  flowed  chiefly  from  her  ill-starred  marriage. 
Darnley  soon  manifested  a  nature  too  gross  and  defec- 
tive to  bear  his  sudden  elevation  to  power.  He  gave 
loose  to  intemperate  and  libidinous  inclinations,  and  to 
his  wilful  temper;  his  manner  towards  his  wife  was 
often  cruelly  rude  ;  his  time  was  given  to  riotous  com- 
panions;  and  the  kingly  title  and  equal  power  con- 
ferred on  him  by  the  generous  love  of  the  queen,  to- 
gether with  many  other  favors,  only  fed  his  childish 
appetite  for  more,  until  he  determined  to  usurp  the  su- 
preme authority. 

The  Earl  of  Morton,  who  affected  allegiance  to  the 


360  MARY   OF  SCOTLAND. 


queen,  was  ready  to  seize  on  the  passions  of  her  hus- 
band as  instruments  for  the  execution  of  his  own  pur- 
poses, which  must  be  considered  sellish  ones  for  the 
most  part,  inasmuch  as  Mary's  whole  course,  and  all 
historical  documents,  evince  no  design  in  her  to  join 
the  Continental  league  of  princes,  for  the  suppression 
of  Protestantism  by  fire  and  sword.  But  she  was  re- 
solved at  a  parliament,  soon  to  meet,  to  secure  the  final 
expatriation  of  that  Murray  who,  in  the  face  of  her 
offers  of  pardon,  had  persisted  in  rebellion,  and  had 
long  shown  himself  a  faithless  and  unsrrateful  dissem- 
bier.  This  resolution  stirred  up  the  disaffected  to  im- 
mediate action.  Morton  and  others  at  once  conspired 
with  Darnley  and  the  absent  Murray,  in  a  way  that 
seemed  to  favor  the  separate  interests  of  all  concerned. 
The  king  was  to  be  clothed  with  a  right  over  the  queen  ; 
Murray  was  to  be  restored,  and  the  Reform  party  to 
have  full  sway.  Thus  was  Darnley  made  a  poor  dupe, 
and  bound,  by  written  agreement,  to  go  to  any  extreme, 
even,  as  the  language  of  the  compact  evidently  implied, 
to  the  wresting  of  liberty  or  life  from  his  devoted  wife 
and  munificent  queen. 

The  first  step  in  this  treason,  was  the  infamous  mur- 
der of  Rizzio,  the  confidential  secretary  and  faithful 
adviser  of  Mary.  There  is  some  proof  that  this  was 
perpetrated,  not  merely  through  jealousy  of  Rizzio's 
long  influence  with  the  queen,  but  more  immediately 
in  revenge  of  his  disclosure  of  this  same  plot,  which, 
it  is  af&rmed,  he  had  accidentally  overheard  as  one  that 
purposed  her  imprisonment  until  the  rebels  secured 
their  objects. 


WAEY   OF   SCOTLAND.  361 


Rizzio  was  a  native  of  Piedmont,  and  came  to  Scot- 
land in  1561,  as  an  attach^  of  the  Savoyan  embassy. 
He  was  retained  by  Mary  on  account  of  his  musical 
talent,  and,  three  years  after,  rose  to  be  her  French 
secretary.  Advanced  in  years,  and  repulsive  in  fea- 
cures,  he  was  accomplished  in  mind  and  manners,  and 
in  various  ways  serviceable  to  his  mistress.  She  could 
trust  no  man,  not  even  her  husband ;  and,  though  two 
of  her  four  Maries  yet  remained  unmarried  with  her, 
it  is  not  wonderful  that  she  admitted  the  trusty  Rizzio 
to  a  familiar  companionship  which  has  given  some 
color  to  the  indubitably  false  insinuations  of  her  ene- 
mies. Besides  these,  it  was  reported  that  the  Italian 
was  a  paid  agent  of  the  Pope — a  report  that  would 
make  his  assassination  a  popular  scene  in  the  drama  of 
iniquity  to  be  acted  by  the  traitors. 

Saturday,  the  9th  of  March,  15 66,  was  fixed  upon  for 
the  deed  of  blood.  Morton  introduced  into  Holyrood 
palace  five  hundred  armed  men  as  a  safeguard.  Lord 
Ruthven,  a  fierce  man,  and  encased  in  a  coat  of  mail 
beneath  his  robe,  led  a  chosen  few  to  Darnley's  room, 
directly  beneath  a  small  private  room  where  Mary  was 
at  supper,  in  company  with  a  brother,  a  countess,  and 
the  secretary.  By  a  secret  stairway  that  led  to  this 
room  from  the  lower  one,  Darnley,  at  eight  o'clock, 
entered  and  sat  down  at  the  supper-table,  next  to  the 
queen.  His  not  returning,  after  a  certain  interval,  was 
the  preconcerted  sign  that  his  accomplices  could  do 
their  work.  Accordingly,  as  many  as  could  crowd  into 
the  small  chamber,  suddenly  appeared,  one  after  an- 
other, their  savage  leader  clanking  his  armor  as  he  sat 


862  MARY   OF   SCOTLAND. 


down,  without  a  word  of  salutation.  Mary  demanded 
an  explanation.  Rutliven  declared  that  no  evil  was 
meant  except  to  the  villain  near  her,  and  fixed  his 
ghastly  eyes  on  the  secretary,  who  was  conspicuous  in 
his  dress  of  satin,  velvet,  damask,  fur,  and  jewels. 
Mary  heard  the  reply  with  calm  courage,  and  called  on 
Darnley  to  maintain  her  rights  ;  then,  seeing  him  move 
not,  she  commanded  the  intruders  to  leave,  saying  that 
parliament  should  investigate  any  charges  against  Hiz- 
zio.  Ruthven  now  assailed  the  latter  with  a  storm  of 
invective,  until,  frightened  from  his  senses,  he  rushed 
into  the  recess  of  a  window,  behind  the  person  of  the 
queen,  and  cried  repeatedly  in  Italian — "Justice!  jus- 
tice !"  In  the  confusion  that  followed,  the  table  was 
overturned,  all  the  lights  but  one  extinguished,  and 
swords  and  pistols  flourished  at  random.  At  last, 
George  Douglas  grasped  Darnley's  dirk  and,  leaning 
over  the  queen,  struck  Rizzio,  who  was  dragged  out 
into  the  presence  chamber,  dispatched  with  fifty-six 
stabs,  and  afterwards  thrown  down  the  great  stairway, 
with  the  king's  weapon  still  in  his  side. 

Several  noblemen,  then  in  the  palace,  were  to  have 
been  captured,  but  they  managed  to  escape  by  ropes 
from  the  windows,  and  aroused  the  provost  of  the  city. 
The  alarm-bell  was  sounded ;  hundreds  of  citizens  ran 
to  the  palace,  and  called  for  the  queen  to  show  herself 
and  convince  them  of  her  welfare.  She  was  forcibly 
kept  back,  and  Darnley  dismissed  the  crowd.  To  her 
presence  Ruthven  returned,  and  there  drank  a  glass  of 
wine,  and,  to  her  rebuke  for  his  conduct,  replied  in 
abusive  words.     All  night  she  was  held  captive,  suffer- 


MARY    OF    SCOTLAND.  863 


ing  the  wliile  from  illness  brought  on  by  terror  and 
her  condition  as  almost  a  mother.  Next  day,  parlia- 
ment was  prorogued  in  Darnley's  name ;  and,  in  the 
evening,  Murray  and  the  other  exiled  noblemen  arrivea 
at  the  palace. 

The  affair  had  succeeded ;  but  how  the  queen  should 
be  disposed  oi  was  a  perplexing  question.  To  set  her 
at  liberty  or  put  hor  to  death,  were  equally  dangerous, 
and  to  imprison  her  almost  as  much  so.  Darnley  be- 
gan to  entertain  misgivings,  and,  at  his  entreaty,  the 
party  agreed  that  Mary  should  be  released,  provided 
she  would  pardon  all  concerned.  Alone  with  him, 
her  strong  mind  and  heart  soon  overpowered  his  feel- 
ings, and  he  consented  to  escape  with  her  at  midnight 
and  fly  to  Dunbar  castle,  for  their  common  safety 
against  the  lawless  nobles  who  befriended  in  order  to 
ruin  him.  There,  her  still  loyal  earls  rallied  around 
her,  and,  at  her  return  with  a  suddenly  collected  army, 
they  fled  for  their  lives.  She  now  found  it  advisable 
to  pardon  Murray  and  the  leaders  of  the  former  rebel- 
lion, and  to  confine  her  indignation  to  the  recent  evil- 
doers. Her  whole  reign,  it  has  been  said,  was  a  series 
of  plottings  and  pardons. 

She  became  very  melancholy,  as  well  she  might  be, 
for  various  reasons.  Her  conjugal  love  had  been  be- 
trayed ;  none  of  her  associates  "were  to  be  relied  on , 
and  Elizabeth  still  pursued  her  malevolent  schemes, 
one  of  which  was  the  sending  of  a  man  to  Mary's  court, 
who  passed  himself  off  as  a  Romish  priest  deputed  by 
English  Catholics,  to  offer  her  the  crown  of  their 
country; — ho  proved  to  be  an  emissary  of  Elizabeth 


J^64  MARY  OF   SCOTLANB. 


herself,  who  had  the  face  to  demand  his  capture.  Hi« 
real  character  had  already  been  discovered,  and  he  wa." 
arrested  in  a  way  his  mistress  dreamed  not  of. 

In  June  of  this  year,  1566,  the  queen  gave  birth  t( 
a  son  who  afterwards  became  James  First  of  England 
being  the  first  sovereign  who  united  the  sceptres  of 
that  country  and  Scotland,     In  him  were  Mary's  doubk 
title,  and  many  hopes  realized,  though  not  until  affcei 
her  death,  and,  alas,  after  that  tender  infant  over  whom 
she  now  watched,  when  grown  a  young  man,  had  re- 
pudiated in  stinging  words,  his  own  mother  in  her  sad 
captivity.     The  birth  was  a  great  matter  of  public  re- 
joicing.    The  celebration  continued  long,  the  people, 
both   of  high   and  low  degree,  assembling  in  solemn 
thanksgiving.     The  infant  had  an  earl  for  governor 
and  his  lady  for  governess ;  and  was  kept  at  Stirling 
castle. 

Six  months  after,  the  child,  remarkable  for  health 
and  strength,  was  there  baptized  with  extraordinary 
pomp.  Ambassadors  from  all  the  chief  courts  of  Eu- 
rope came  to  attend  the  ceremony;  sixty  thousand 
dollars  were  levied  to  defray  the  cost  of  their  enter- 
tainment and  of  the  occasion  ;  Queen  Elizabeth  sent  a 
font  of  gold,  worth  five  thousand  dollars ;  and  the  bap- 
tism was  duly  performed  after  the  Catholic  ritual.  The 
christened  name  was  "  Charles  James,  James  Charles, 
Prince  and  Steward  of  Scotland.  Duke  of  Eothesay, 
Earl  of  Carrick,  Lord  of  the  Isles,  and  Baron  of  Een- 
frew."  Among  many  other  provisions  made  for  the 
royal  babe,  five  ladies  of  rank  were  appointed  "  rock- 
ers" of  his  cradle ;  and  though  he  as  yet  could  taste 


MARY   OF  SCOTLAND.  866 


milk  only,  he  had  "a  master-cook,  a  foreman,  and 
three  other  servitors,  and  one  for  his  pantry,  one  for 
his  wine,  and  two  for  his  ale-cellar."  As  a  specimen 
of  the  presents  given  by  Mary  in  honor  of  the  event, 
may  be  mentioned  a  chain  of  diamonds  worth  three 
thousand  dollars,  given  to  the  Duke  of  Bedford,  Eliza- 
beth's ambassador. 

The  most  exciting  scenes  in  the  life  of  Mary,  had  al- 
ready begun  to  rapidly  unfold  themselves.     All  that 
occurred  so  far,  is  but  the  first  breath  of  the  tempest. 
After  the  affair  of  Rizzio,  Darnley  found  himself  more 
than  ever  despised  and  slighted  by  the  nobility ;  nor 
had  he  the  cunning  or  the  care  to  hide  his  resentment 
&-om  them.     He  shunned  the  society  of  almost  every 
one,  acc<)mpan3'irig  the  queen  only  a  part  of  the  time 
on  her  jom-neys  after  her  confinement,  and,  for  the 
re:'X,  wandering  restlessly  from  one  place  to  another. 
Ti- rough  all    these  months,    his   wife  maintained  the 
sa  ae  kind  manner  to  him,  and  paid  him,  indeed,  all 
the  more  attention  as  a  rebuke  to  the  contemptuous 
lords.     And  he  had  the  nobleness  to  recognize  this  in 
a  marked  way,  and  by  declaring  always  that  he  had  no 
complaint  to  make  against  her.     He  formed,  or  pre- 
ten  led,  a  plan  to  leave  Scotland  for  the  Continent ; 
thii^  may  have  been  done  to  extort  some  concessions  of 
power  from  her.     When  she  was  so  sick  with  fever 
and  convulsions,  two   months   before  the  christening, 
that  all  hope  of  her  recovery  was  given  up,  he  was  by 
her  side,  having  fiown  to  her  at  the  first  news  of  her 
serif  "is  illness.     And  when,  immediately  on  her  recov- 
ery, ihe  proposal  to  divorce  Darnley  was  made,  at  the 


366  MARY   OF   SCOTLAND. 


instigation  of  Both  well,  by  her  council,  she  instantly 
rejected  the  idea,  from  personal  choice  as  well  as  for 
reasons  of  state. 

This  proposal  was  the  first  step  in  the  bold  and  terri- 
ble part  which  Bothwell  plaj^ed.  It  led  to  scenes  of 
horror  than  which  history  has  few  greater.  That  earl 
was  now  in  his  thirty-sixth  year,  and  but  nine  months 
before  had  married  Lady  Jane  Gordon,  sister  of  the 
Earl  of  Huntly.  The  plan  to  effect  a  divorce  between 
the  queen  and  king,  was  the  first  sign  of  the  purpose 
he  had  evidently  formed  to  wear  a  crown  himself  as 
the  husband  of  Mary.  Never  was  a  design  more  dar- 
ing in  itself,  or  in  its  execution.  He  so  addressed 
himself  to  the  selfish  interests  of  the  barons,  that  he 
secured  their  active  or  tacit  support  to  any  extremity 
of  procedure  against  Darnley,  still  keeping  his  own  ul- 
terior purpose  disguised.  The  king's  death  was  re- 
solved upon,  or  assented  to,  by  all  the  chiefs. 

At  this  crisis,  Darnley  was  taken  ill  at  Glasgow  with 
the  smallpox.  It  has  been  asserted  with  much  im- 
probability, that  it  was  poison  rather  than  disease.  The 
queen,  full  of  sympathy  and  alarm,  went  immediately 
to  take  care  of  him.  She  found  him  recovering,  and 
returned  with  him,  in  a  vehicle,  to  Edinburgh.  From 
the  nature  of  his  infectious  disease,  or  from  his  aversion 
to  the  presence  of  the  lords,  he  was  lodged  in  a  house, 
adjoining  the  southern  wall  of  the  city,  and  called 
Kirk-in-the-field.  It  had  four  rooms,  of  which  an  up- 
per one  was  occupied  ty  Darnley,  and  the  one  imme- 
diately beneath  it  by  Mary,  who  spent  much  of  her 
time,  and  often  slept,  there.     She  sat  for  ^ourji  by  her 


MARY    OF  SCOTLAND.  367 


husband's  bed,  and  occasionally  entertained  liim  with 
the  songs  and  instrumental  music  of  her  band. 

Little  did  the  queen  or  Darnley  dream  of  the  volcano 
preparing  beneath  their  feet,  during  the  ten  days  tliey 
passed  together  in  that  house.  We  may  imagine  him 
subdued  by  sickness  to  calm  thought  and  gentle  feel- 
ing, and  her  renewing  the  ardor  of  first  love  to  her 
handsome  and  wayward  lover,  in  commiseration  for  his 
calamities.  And  well  may  he  be  an  object  of  pity  to 
all  men ; — he  was  but  a  boy  of  nineteen  when  wedded 
to  a  queen  and  raised  to  a  kingly  power  that  half  mad- 
dened his  naturally  strong  will.  Now,  he  was  aged 
twenty  years  only,  and  his  heroic  wife  was  but  twenty - 
four.  Men  of  age  and  wisdom  had  in  every  way  en- 
deavored to  estrange  the  hearts  of  these  two  fair  young 
beings,  and  were  now  busily  plotting  the  destruction 
of  one,  or  of  both. 

Bothwell  lost  no  time.  On  Sunday  night  the  9th  of 
February,  1567,  the  queen  was  to  attend  the  marriage 
of  two  of  her  favorite  servants,  at  Holyrood,  and  thus 
would  not  be  at  the  Kirk-in-the-field.  Duplicate  keys 
of  the  house  had  been  obtained ;  eight  men  were  en- 
listed to  do  the  deed.  As  the  best  plan  to  avoid  recog- 
nition and  detection,  powder  had  been  brought  from 
Dunbar  castle,  two  days  before;  with  this,  the  house 
was  to  be  blown  up.  This  was  of  so  great  quantity 
that  the  men  went  twice  with  horses  to  transport  it. 
The  queen  and  three  earls  weie  in  Darnley 's  room, 
while  it  was  carried  into  her  room  beneath ;  and  Both- 
well  hhnself,  after  overseeing  the  inhuman  work,  joined 
the  party  in  the  sick  man's  chamber,  so  self-possessed 


$68  MARY   OF   SCOTLAND. 


aud  fearless  was  he.  In  the  conversation  there,  it  is 
said  that  Marj  remarked  "  it  was  just  about  that  time 
last  year  David  Rizzio  was  killed" — a  chance-word  that 
might  well  have  made  the  bold  earl  visibly  shrink. 

At  eleven  o'clock,  she  affectionately  kissed  her  youth- 
ful husband,  unconscious  that  she  would  never  hear  his 
voice  again ;  then  left,  with  the  others,  to  attend  the 
wedding.  As  she  entered  Holyrood  House,  she  de- 
tected the  smell  of  gunpowder,  in  passing  a  servant  of 
Bothwell,  and  asked  what  it  meant.  An  evasive  an- 
swer was  given  and  she  said  no  more.  Bothwell 
joined  the  dancing  and  masking  party,  then  went  to 
his  own  house,  and  exchanged  his  silver-embroidereo 
doublet,  of  black  satin,  for  a  coarse  dress  and  cloak. 
With  his  accomplices,  he  hurried  to  the  scene  of  ac- 
tion, affixed  a  piece  of  lint  to  the  powder,  which  lay  in 
a  heap  on  the  floor,  and,  lighting  the  train,  hastened  to 
a  garden  close  at  hand,  to  await  the  catastrophe.  For 
fifteen  minutes,  all  was  silent ;  and  Bothwell  was  with 
difficulty  restrained  from  going  to  examine  the  lighted 
match.  But  his  patience  was  needed  no  longer.  Sud- 
denly the  city  echoed  as  with  many  thunders  in  one, 
and  shook  as  with  an  earthquake.  The  doomed  build- 
ing was  shivered  to  pieces ;  stones,  ten  feet  in  length 
and  four  in  breadth,  it  is  affirmed,  "  were  found  blown 
from  the  house  a  far  way." 

Bothwell  made  all  speed,  through  bye-streets,  for  his 
lodgings,  and  retired  to  bed.  In  half  an  hour  the  news 
came  to  him  that  the  king  was  killed.  He  donned  the 
same  dress  he  had  worn  in  the  presence  of  the  queen, 
a  few  hours  before,  and,  assuming  great  anger,  wen: 


MARY   OF   SCOTLAND.  369 


with  others  to  break  the  news  to  Mary,  who  was  al- 
ready distressed  to  know  certainly  of  the  rumor  that 
had  reached  her.  At  daybreak,  the  guilty  lords  went 
to  the  scene,  where  they  found  a  crowd  gathered.  One 
servant  was  rescued  aliva  from  the  ruins;  three  others 
were  killed,  one  of  whom,  together  with  Darnley,  was 
discovered  at  a  great  distance — both  dead,  but  with 
hardly  a  wound.  Thus  perished  Henry  Stuart,  who 
bore  the  titles  of  Lord  Darnley,  Duke  of  Albany,  and 
King  of  Scotland,  after  a  reign,  if  it  may  be  called 
such,  of  eighteen  months.  Young,  imprudent,  wilful 
and  vicious,  yet  fascinating  and  accomplished,  hia 
union  with  Mary  and  his  shocking  death  have  attached 
to  his  name  a  lasting  interest 

The  unhappy  queen  shut  herself  up  and  refused  to 
see  any  one.  Her  account  of  the  event,  in  a  letter  to 
her  ambassador  at  Paris,  is  on  record  and  is  full  of  un- 
affected grief  and  horror.  Believing  that  violence  was 
intended  to  herself  also,  she  removed  to  Edinburgh 
castle,  for  greater  safety.  Great  rewards  were  offered 
for  the  detection  of  the  murderers.  Suspicions  soon 
centred  on  Bothwell.  At  night,  a  placard  was  posted, 
charging  the  deed  on  him  together  with  others,  not 
excepting  the  queen  as  one  who  connived  at  the  crime. 
The  whole  country  was  agitated  with  the  mystery. 
Mary  used  every  exertion  to  penetrate  it,  but  she  knew 
not  whom  to  arrest,  and  was  so  worn  out  with  trouble 
that  she  was  prevailed  on  to  journey  for  her  health. 
According  to  the  entreaty  of  Lennox,  Darnley's  father, 
she  finally  ordered  a  trial  of  Bothwell,  in  April.  At 
this,  Bothwell  was  acquitted,  having  taken   care   to 


370  MARY   OF   SCOTLAND. 


make  it  unsafe  for  Lennox  to  appear  and  support  the 
charge,  even  if  he  could  have  found  evidence  to  sus- 
tain it. 

Bothwell's  next  achievement,  was  the  procuring  of 
a  written  bond,  signed  by  nearly  all  the  nobility  of 
every  party  and  creed,  pledging  their  lives  and  goods, 
to  aid  his  claims  to  Mary's  hand.  This  was  accom- 
plished at  a  supper,  to  which  he  invited  them,  on  the 
20th  of  April.  It  must  have  required  much  prelimi- 
nary electioneering,  and  is  proof  of  very  bold  and  sub- 
tle finesse;  or  perhaps  the  lords  readily  assented,  in 
order  the  better  to  ruin  Mary.  The  bond  was  secured 
for  its  effect  on  the  queen  at  a  future  day,  and  for  the 
present  was  kept  from  her  knowledge.  When  ques- 
tioned as  to  the  report  of  her  intended  marriage  with 
the  earl,  she  said  "there  was  no  such  thing  in  her 
mind."  And  when  Bothwell  soon  after  hinted  his  de- 
sire to  her,  she  discouraged  it  altogether. 

The  time  had  come,  therefore,  for  another  high- 
handed act.  The  queen  had  been  spending  a  few  daya 
at  Stirling,  and  was  to  return  on  the  24th  of  April, 
Bothwell  gathered  a  band  of  cavalry,  numbering  be- 
tween five  hundred  and  a  thousand  men,  as  if  to  sup- 
press disturbances  on  the  southern  border,  over  which 
he  ruled.  But,  changing  his  course,  after  proceeding 
a  short  distance,  he  intercepted  Mary  and  her  slender 
escort  at  Linlithgow,  took  the  bride  of  her  horse,  and 
hastened  to  Dunbar  castle.  An  abduction  at  all,  under 
the  circumstances,  together  with  the  unnecessary  num- 
ber of  troopers  employed,  and  the  spirit  of  Mary's 
whole  life  and  testimony,  are  some  of  the  evidejicea 


MARY   OF   SCOTLAND.  371 


that  this  affair  was  not  with  her  knowledge  or  consent, 
as  has  been  maintained.  Able  writers  have  not  only 
laboriously  accused  her  of  this,  but  have  argued  that 
she  had  already  a  criminal  intimacy  with  Bothwell, 
and  that  too  before  the  murder  of  her  husband.  All 
that  we  know  of  her,  on  undisputed  record,  and  a  great 
variety  of  circumstances  that  any  reader  of  history  may 
gather,  utterly  disprove  the  foul  insinuations  and  as- 
saults of  partisan,  or  blind,  writers. 

At  Dunbar  castle,  on  the  rocky  sea-shore,  Mary  was 
held  ten  days,  in  a  solitude  to  which  none  but  Both- 
well  was  admitted,  not  even  her  own  servants.  She 
saw  no  signs  of  an  attempt  by  her  subjects  to  deliver 
her ;  she  found  the  nobles  were  pledged  on  the  earl's 
side ;  he  both  supplicated  her  love  in  tender  appeals, 
and  declared  that  he  would  compel  her  to  marry  him, 
against  her  will,  if  necessary ;  Darnley,  though  only 
three  months  in  his  grave,  had  been  one  of  the  mur- 
derers of  her  faithful  servant  and  secretary,  and  had 
before  forfeited  her  love,  so  that  she  must  have  felt  his 
death  a  relief,  though  a  great  shock  to  her  sensibilities  ; 
there  was  not  a  man  of  influence,  except  her  captor, 
on  whom  she  could  rely  ;  her  kingdom  was  full  of 
trouble  and  violence  ;  Bothwell  was  a  man  of  shrewd 
mind,  unflinching  courage,  and  great  energy ;  he  had 
been  acquitted  at  his  trial,  and  had  the  written  consent 
of  all  the  peers,  to  his  marriage  with  her ;  he  was  that 
sort  of  fierce  lover  which  her  whole  temperament 
would  lead  her  to  admire  and  yield  to ;  she  was  not  a 
shrinking  maiden ;  and,  above  all,  she  was  wholly  in 
his  power,  with  no  prospect  of  escape.     What  wonder 


872  MARY   OF   SCOTLAND. 


that  she  at  last  consented  to  be  his  bride,  or  that,  hav- 
ing once  consented  and  received  his  fond  attentions, 
she  afterwards,  under  less  apparent  necessity,  adhered 
to  her  promise  ?  But  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  he 
went  to  the  most  guilty  extremities  of  compulsion,  so 
that  her  course  subsequently  became  one  of  mere  neces- 
sity. Meantime  he  and  his  injured  wife  both  sued 
for  a  divorce,  which  was  hurriedly  granted  by  the 
courts. 

Taken  under  guard  to  Edinburgh  castle,  which  was 
in  Both  well's  control,  Mary  was  not  permitted  to  ap- 
pear in  public,  until  the  bans  of  marriage  had  been 
twice  proclaimed.  The  ceremony  took  place  in  a  very 
quiet  way,  and  according  to  the  Protestant  form,  to 
which  the  queen  seems  to  have  been  reconciled  only 
by  a  despairing  state  of  mind,  so  unfaltering  was  hei 
steadfastness  in  her  peculiar  faith,  through  a  whole 
life.  A  sermon  was  preached  on  the  occasion ;  and 
after  it,  at  supper,  Bothwell  gave  loose  to  his  coarse 
hilarity,  elated  by  his  entire  success. 

But  his  success  so  far,  was  no  less  complete  than  was 
the  conscious  ruin  of  the  Queen  of  Scots.  So  hope- 
less was  she,  it  is  declared  that  she  threatened  to  com- 
mit suicide.  Though  she  was  reinstated  in  Holyrood 
palace,  she  was  continually  guarded  by  "  two  hundred 
harquebuziers,"  in  the  pay  of  her  ravisher.  His  con- 
duct to  her  was  full  of  suspicion  and  rudeness ;  liis 
"other  wife,"  formally  divorced,  remained  in  his  former 
residence,  and,  as  it  was  believed,  had  an  understand- 
ing with  him  ;  and  to  these  sources  of  Mary's  misery, 
were  added  the  now  apparently  confirmed  and  trium- 


MARY   OF   SCOTLAND.  873 


phant  accusations  of  many  of  her  subjects,  and  a  loss 
of  the  respect  of  other  nations  and  royal  courts. 

Villainy  ever  overacts  its  part.  Bothwell  might 
have  confirmed  his  triumph,  by  a  prudent  course.  But, 
in  his  proud  exultation,  he  took  no  care  to  allay  the 
already  active  envy  of  the  nobles ;  and  he  even  boast- 
ed that  if  he  could  get  Mary's  child  into  his  possession, 
the  young  prince  would  never  have  an  opportunity  to 
revenge  the  death  of  his  father.  Soon  after,  he  pro- 
claimed his  intention  to  go  with  the  queen  to  quell 
some  troubles  on  the  border;  and  called  on  the  chiefs 
to  appear  with  their  forces,  under  arms,  for  this  pur- 
pose. It  was  at  once  suspected  that  he  had  designs  on 
the  young  prince  at  Stirling  castle. 

Accordingly,  the  "  prince's  lords,"  as  they  were 
thenceforth  termed,  gathered  their  retainers,  as  if  in 
compliance  with  the  call,  but  assembled  at  Stirling  in 
oreat  numbers,  in  open  opposition  to  Bothwell.  He, 
just  then,  learned  that  he  could  not  rely  on  the  keeper 
of  the  castle  of  Edinburgh,  and  fearing  an  attack 
from  that  quarter  also,  with  the  ready  apprehension  of 
an  evil  conscience,  retired  to  Borthwick  castle,  seven 
miles  south  of  the  city.  No  sooner  had  he  placed 
Mary  there  and  collected  all  his  force  in  defence,  than 
he  found  himself  surrounded  by  the  swarming  army 
of  his  adversaries.  At  night,  he  fled  through  their 
ranks,  in  company  with  Mary,  whose  fortunes  were 
now  thoroughly  involved  with  his,  ana  who  thus  es- 
caped in  the  disguise  of  male  attire.  Arrived  at  Dun- 
bar, he  summoned  all  the  queen's  lieges  in  her  name, 
to  appear  for  her  defence.     An  army  of  two  thousand 


874  MARY   OF   SCOTLAND. 


men,  moved  by  a  feeling  of  loyalty,  answered  the  call 
and  were  led  forth  by  himself  and  Mary. 

The  opposing  forces  met  at  Carberry  Hill ;  but 
neither  seem  disposed  to  engage  the  other  in  battle. 
The  day  was  spent  in  negotiations,  at  one  time  for 
peace,  at  another  for  a  decision  by  single  combat.  Both- 
well  having  challenged  any  man  of  his  own  rank  to 
meet  him,  and  each  party  claiming  that  the  other  was 
in  blame  for  the  failure  of  this  proposal.  Finally  the 
queen  offered  to  place  herself  in  the  hands  of  her 
lords,  and  to  pardon  their  seeming  revolt,  provided 
they  would  insure  her  free  sovereignty.  To  frustrate 
her  purpose,  Bothwell,  with  characteristic  desperation, 
attempted  to  shoot  her  messenger,  and,  not  succeeding, 
retired  angrily  to  Dunbar  castle  with  a  few  followers. 

The  moment  Mary  sun-eudered  herself  to  the  nobles, 
for  the  sake,  as  she  said,  of  saving  the  waste  of  chris- 
tian blood  and  her  people's  lives, — was  the  turning 
point  of  his  rash  career.  Not  long  after,  he  found  it 
advisable  to  escape  into  the  north  of  Scotland,  where 
he  held  estates  as  the  Duke  of  Orkney.  Pursued  thith- 
er by  his  enemies,  and  nearly  captured  as  he  was  flying 
from  them  in  a  boat,  it  is  related  that  he  remained 
awhile  in  the  Orkney  Isles,  committing  piracies  on  the 
seas,  and  was  at  last  taken  to  Denmark,  or  else  volun 
tarily  went  thither  to  enlist  the  Danish  king  in  his 
wretched  cause.  However  that  may  be,  it  is  believed 
he  spent  years  in  a  Danish  dungeon,  and,  at  last,  died 
insane,  from  the  mad  chafing  of  his  proud,  restless 
spirit,  and  the  gnawings  of  conscience.  His  life  was 
strange  and  wild  as  a  dream :  he  was  an  embodiment 


MARY   OF   SCOTLAND.  875 


of  the  fiery  passions  of  the  age.  In  oui  times,  noble- 
men are  giving  scientific  lectures  to  the  people  or  sit- 
ting as  chairmen  of  peace  conventions  and  missionary 
societies. 

Mary's  conduct  at  Carberry  Hill  can  hardly  be  con- 
strued into  any  real  love  for  Bothwell.  Her  army  was 
so  superior  in  numbers  and  position  as  to  promise  a 
sure  victory.  She  would  not  have  prevented  a  battle, 
or  parted  from  him  in  such  a  manner,  had  she  not  de- 
sired to  put  herself  out  of  his  power.  But  her  noble 
trust  in  her  base  noblemen,  was  destined  to  be  betrayed. 
As  she  entered  the  city,  she  was  preceded  by  a  banner, 
whereon  was  painted  the  shocking  picture  of  Darnley 
lying  dead,  and  her  child  kneeling  before  it,  with  the 
words,  "Judge  and  revenge  my  cause,  O  Lord."  The 
populace  pressed  around,  and  insulted  her  with  the 
most  shameful  exclamations,  while  she  rode  on,  her 
face  bowed  down  in  tears.  To  her  surprise,  the  lords 
led  her  past  Holyrood ;  she  called  out  to  all  her  loyal 
subjects  to  interfere  in  her  behalf;  but  she  was  taken 
to  the  provost's  house. 

The  next  day,  she  so  worked  upon  the  variable  sym- 
pathies of  the  crowd,  that  her  oppressors  escorted  her 
to  the  palace.  This  was  but  a  feint  of  submission,  or 
rather  a  step  to  a  greater  outrage.  At  midnight,  Ruth- 
ven  and  Lindsay,  the  grim  earls  who  were  active  in 
Rizzio's  assassination,  aroused  her  from  sleep,  disguised 
her  in  a  coarse  riding-dress,  and,  placing  her  on  a  horse, 
made  all  speed  through  the  darkness  until  morning, 
when  she  found  herself  at  Loch  Leveu  castle,  which 
was  situated  on  a  small  island  in  the  lake  of  that  name. 


876  MARY   OF   SCOTLAND. 


north  of  Edinburgh.  This  was  a  place  of  great  secu- 
rity, and  the  more  so  in  this  case,  as  it  was  the  seat 
of  Lady  Douglas,  the  mother  of  Earl  Murray,  and 
closely  connected  with  Lindsay  and  Morton,  all  of  them, 
at  heart,  the  foes  of  Mary.  The  full  extent  of  the  de- 
signs against  her,  was  hidden  from  the  unfortunate 
queen ;  it  was  represented  that  extreme  care  for  her 
safety,  in  view  of  the  power  of  Bothwell,  was  the  reason 
for  such  treatment.  But  she  could  not  doubt  that  some 
evil  was  intended.  Her  keeper,  the  Lady  of  Loch 
Leven,  as  she  was  more  generally  known,  behaved 
harshly  to  her  charge,  and  even  taunted  her  with  a 
pretension  to  the  crown  itself.  She  was  kept,  too,  in 
close  confinement;  her  rooms,  occupying  a  bastion 
that  overhung  the  waters  of  the  lake,  are  still  shown 
to  travellers,  though  dilapidated,  like  the  rest  of  the 
castle. 

Thus  far,  the  dominant  party  had  not  dared  to  pub- 
licly charge  her  with  crime.  Their  declarations  show 
that  she  was  universally  regarded  as  a  helpless  victim 
of  the  lord  of  Dunbar  castle.  Two  great  parties,  how- 
ever, soon  began  to  define  themselves,  one  for  the  queen, 
and  the  other  for  the  prince.  Morton,  the  leader  of 
the  latter,  was  at  Edinburgh,  with  his  supporters. 
Hamilton  palace,  near  Glasgow,  was  the  rendezvous  of 
the  queen's  friends,  among  whom  were  Huntly,  Argyle, 
Rothes,  Livingstone,  and  Seaton,  altogether  represent 
ing  a  majority  of  the  kingdom.  The  "  prince's  friends,*' 
as  they  termed  themselves,  began  to  publish  many  sys- 
tematic falsehoods,  criminating  Mary,  and  these  have 
been  repcjated  and  urged  ever  since.     Their  motives 


MAHY    OF   SCOTLAJn).  377 


are  plain.  They  hoped,  by  dethroning  her,  both  to 
escape  punishment  for  their  misdeeds,  and  to  rise  into 
greater  power.  And  the  queen's  friends,  knowing  this, 
proposed  that  they  should  liberate  her,  on  condition 
she  would  forever  pardon  them.  But  they  had  gone 
too  far,  to  consent  to  this.  Elizabeth,  too,  was  busily 
instigating  them  against  Mary  ;  and  Murray,  who  had 
long  been  at  Paris,  cautiously  watching  events  in  Scot- 
land, lent  them  his  encouragement. 

The  25th  of  July,  1567,  was  perhaps  the  saddest  of 
all  the  sad  days  of  this  hapless  queen.  Sir  Robert 
Melville  and  Lord  Lindsay  came  to  make  her  abdicate 
her  throne.  Melville  first  saw  her,  and  used  his  per- 
suasive talent,  to  the  utmost,  but  without  effect.  The 
ravage  Lindsay  was  next  admitted ;  he  at  once  broke 
forth  in  fierce  threats,  vowing  to  the  unprotected  queen 
that,  if  she  did  not  immediately  sign  the  papers  of  ab- 
dication brought  with  them,  he  would  sign  them  with 
her  blood,  and  cast  her  into  the  lake  beneath  the  window. 
Mary  had  known  his  sanguinary  part  in  the  Rizzio  trage- 
dy; she  now  saw  him  about  to  draw  his  dagger,  as  she 
supposed  ;  Melville  adroitly  whispered  to  her  that  acts 
done  under  compulsion  would  not  be  binding,  if  she 
ever  should  choose  to  disown  them ;  in  an  agony  of 
tears  and  terror,  she  put  her  name  to  the  documents, 
wherein  she  was  made  to  say  that  she  freely  resigned 
her  crown,  being  wearied  with  the  labors  of  govern- 
ment. Thus  did  this  woman,  whose  honorable  ambi- 
tion was  her  ruling  passion,  suddenly  find  hei'?clf  no 
more  a  sovereign. 

Four  days  afterward,  her  son  James,  then  one  year 


378  MARY   OF   SCOTLAND. 


old,  was  crowned  at  Stirling.  All  commands  were 
published  in  his  name.  Buchanan,  one  of  Mary's  bit- 
terest enemies,  was  made  his  tutor  ;  and  from  that  time 
contempt  for  his  own  mother  was  carefully  instilled 
into  the  child's  mind.  Murray  soon  returned  to  Scot- 
land. With  characteristic  circumspection,  he  did  not 
at  first  commit  himself  to  either  party.  The  regency, 
during  James'  minority,  was  urged  upon  him.  He 
went  to  Loch  Leven,  and,  counterfeiting  great  sym- 
pathy for  Mary,  prevailed  on  her  to  approve  of  his 
assuming  that  office,  for  her  sake.  At  Edinburgh,  he 
pretended  much  humility,  and  a  regret  that  the  choice 
had  fallen  upon  him,  but  took  the  oaths  of  regent. 
He  set  himself  energetically  and  carefully  at  work  to 
suppress  discontent,  and  to  strengthen  his  power  for  a 
virtual  reign,  in  James'  name,  that  promised  to  endure 
many  years.  And,  to  make  assurance  doubly  sure, 
love-letters  were  now  forged  and  produced,  purporting 
to  be  from  Mary  to  Bothwell  and  implicating  her  in 
Darnley's  murder.  The  summit  of  his  ambition  ap- 
peared to  be  attained.  When  Mary,  a  light-hearted 
girl  of  eighteen,  in  sunny  France,  received  the  respect- 
ful visits  of  her  Scottish  earls,  little  did  she  foresee  how 
strangely  the  dark  threads  of  the  lives  of  two  of  them, 
were  to  be  inwoven  with  the  fair  fibres  of  her  own. 

For  the  first  seven  months  of  her  imprisonment,  the 
gloom  of  the  poor  queen  was  unalleviated  by  one  ray 
of  hope.  In  four  short  months,  an  unparalleled  series 
of  misfortunes,  wrongs  and  insults  had  fallen  upon  her. 
The  lady  of  Loch  Leven,  a  former  dismissed  courtezan 
of  her  father    was  bitter  and  malicious ;  one  of  the 


MARY    OF   SCOTLAND. 


879 


<jhief  servants  of  the  castle  was  concerned  in  Rizzio's 
death,  and  declared  he  would  gladly  kill  the  queen. 
Her  own  servants  were  her  only  solace  and  protection  ; 
these  were  faithful  and  tender ;  yet,  even  with  theii 
aid,  she  had  no  chance  of  escape. 

But  in  March,  1568,  a  new  light  shone  into  her 
prison.  A  son  of  the  lady-keeper,  George  Douglas, 
aged  twenty-five,  and  a  relative  of  the  family,  William 
Douglas,  seventeen  years  old,  had  entertained  a  very 
romantic  interest  in  the  beautiful  and  luckless  Mary. 
They  now  arranged  a  plan  for  her  escape.  She  clothed 
herself  in  the  garments  of  her  laundress,  concealing 
her  face,  and,  bundle  in  hand,  passed  out  of  the  castle, 
and  took  the  boat  in  waiting.  But  the  boatmen  dis- 
covered her  delieate  liaiids,  and,  desj  ite  her  commands 
as  their  queen,  took  her  back  to  the  castle. 

The  resolute  and  chivalric  George  and  William  did 
not  relinquish  the  idea  of  rescuing  their  lovely  sover- 
eign.     Five  weeks  after,  another  scheme  was  formed 
and  this  time  successfally  carried  out.     On  the  2d  of 
May,  William  abstracted  the  keys  of  the  castle  from 
the   family  supper-table,  where  they  had  been  laid, 
locked  the  whole  household  in  as  he  passed  out,  helped 
Mary  out  of  the  one  window  into  a  boat  prepared 
for  her,  threw  the  keys  into  the  lake,  and,  with  the 
assistance  of  Mary  herself  at  the  oars,  soon  placed  her 
exultingly  in  the  hands  of  several  of  her  trusty  lords 
who  wei-e  waiting  with  a  guard  to  receive  her.     Quick- 
ly mounting  and  riding  rapidly  wdth  little  rest,  they 
arrived  with  her  at  Hamilton  palace,  early  in  the  fore- 
noon of  the  next  day. 


380  ilAEY   OF  SCOTLAND. 


The  whole  land  was  aroused  by  the  news  of  her 
escape.  Multitudes  of  every  grade  gathered  to  her 
assistance,  among  them  "  nine  earls,  nine  bishops,  eigh- 
teen lords,  and  many  barons  and  gentlemen."  Six 
thousand  soldiers  were  at  her  command  before  the 
week  closed.  She  renounced  her  forced  abdication, 
Melville  himself  appearing  and  testifying  to  the  cir- 
cumstances. Murray's  friends  began  to  silently  with- 
draw from  him.  He  was  at  Glasgow,  near  the  head- 
quarters of  Mary.  He  saw  the  need  of  instant  action, 
to  arrest  her  intention  to  fortify  herself  in  Dumbarton 
castle,  which  is  situated  on  a  lofty  pyramid  of  rock, 
and  was  a  place  of  impregnable  strength.  She  was 
already  on  the  way,  with  her  troops. 

Murray  called  together  some  four  thousand  men,  and 
met  the  queen's  army  at  Langside,  two  miles  south  of 
Glasgow.  Both  armies  endeavored  to  gain  a  command- 
ing hill.  Murray,  by  the  advice  of  a  veteran,  mounted 
his  infantry  behind  the  troopers'  saddles,  and  reached 
the  point  first.  A  fierce  battle  ensued,  for  a  long  time 
doubtful,  but  at  last  decided  by  a  reinforcement  of 
Highlanders  in  favor  of  the  regent.  Mary  watched 
the  scene  in  unimaginable  ex:citement,  and,  overwhelm- 
ed at  the  result,  cried  out  that  it  were  better  for  her 
not  to  have  been  born.  There  was  no  time  for  delay. 
With  a  few  attendants,  she  put  her  excellent  horseman- 
ship to  full  proof,  and  never  paused  until  she  was  sixty 
miles  away  to  the  south,  at  the  abbey  of  Dundrennan. 
She  was  advised  to  sail  for  France  ;  but  was  too 
proud  to  enter  as  a  fugitive  the  land  she  had  reigned 
over  in  splendor,  as  the  queen  of  a  triple  sceptre.    Nor 


MARY    OF   SCOTLAND.  381 


would  it  do  for  her  to  apply  for  aid  to  a  Catholic  coun- 
try ;  it  would  hazard  her  crown  too  much.  She  trust- 
ed that  Elizabeth  would  at  least  give  her  refuge,  and 
applied  for  it.  Unable  to  wait  for  a  reply,  she  made 
her  way,  by  land  and  water,  to  the  vicinity  of  the  castle 
of  Carlisle,  in  England.  Men  of  rank  came  to  meet 
her,  and  conducted  her,  with  great  respect,  to  the  castle. 
Elizabeth  sent  hypocritical  raes;3ages  of  sympathy  ;  she 
privately  exulted  in  the  climax  of  her  wishes,  the  ap- 
parent ruin  of  Mary ;  she  did  not  know  how  far  it  was 
prudent  to  take  advantage  of  her  power,  and  waited  to 
consult  with  Murray.  With  the  excuse  that  Mary  was 
in  danger  from  her  Scottish  enemies,  the  castle  was  re- 
paired, she  at  all  times  kept  under  guard,  and  her 
walks  and  rides  finally  prevented  altogether.  For  the 
same  ostensible  reason,  she  was,  not  long  after,  re- 
moved farther  south  to  Bolton  castle,  in  the  north  of 
Yorkshire. 

Elizabeth's  course  was  soon  settled.  She  conferrert 
with  Murray,  who  had  dispersed  the  renewed  gather- 
ino-s  of  forces  in  Mary's  cause,  and  busily  entrenched 
himself  in  his  ill-gotten  authority.  The  plan  was  to 
bring  the  Queen  of  Scots  to  what  amounted  to  a  crimi- 
nal trial,  and,  by  foul  means,  make  her  stand  condemn- 
ed before  the  world.  She  was  called  on  to  appoint 
commissioners  to  meet  those  of  Murray,  and  others 
named  by  Eli-zabeth,  to  settle  all  disputes  between  her 
and  the  regent.  Against  this  she  protested  as  a  sove- . 
reign,  who  could  not  be  placed  on  a  level  with  rebels 
to  herself;  but  was  ultimately  persuaded  to  thus  vindi- 
cate her  honor.     The  English  queen,  from  first  to  last, 


382  MARY    OF   SCOTLAND. 


acted  with  a  cunning  as  fiendish  in  its  subtlety  as  in  its 
malice.  The  commissioners  met  at  York,  on  the  4th 
of  October,  1568.  Notwithstanding  Murray's  utmost 
efforts,  the  case  seemed  to  be  going  against  him,  Eliz- 
abeth, to  give  her  influence  a  more  deadly  certainty. 
removed  the  conference  to  Westminster;  and  received 
Murray  to  her  presence,  whereas  she  had  cruelly  and 
unjustly  refused  to  see  Mary,  the  royal  defendant,  as  if 
her  pretended  purity  could  not  come  in  contact  with 
one  on  whom  rested  suspicions  which  Elizabeth  her- 
self, after  the  mock-trial  even,  declared  to  Mary  she  did 
not  believe. 

With  her  quick  intelligence  and  decision,  Mary  in- 
structed her  commissioners  to  withdraw  from  the  coun- 
cil, and  thus  dissolve  it,  because  it  was  so  evidently 
unfair  to  adjourn  it  to  a  great  distance  from  the  ac- 
cused, and  to  admit  the  accuser  to  opportunities  denied 
to  herself  Before  this  order  reached  her  friends,  Mur- 
ray had,  as  a  last  resort,  brought  forward  the  forged 
love-letters  and  sonnets,  ascribed  to  Mary,  and  involv- 
ing her  in  the  death  of  Darnley.  The  evidences  for 
their  spuriousness  need  not  be  recounted ;  the  way 
they  were  used,  and,  at  other  times,  neglected  to  be 
used,  by  the  usurpers  of  the  queen's  power,  is  enough 
to  brand  them  as  false.  The  conference  was  broken 
up  ;  but  Murray  and  his  spinster  dictator  arranged  a 
little  scene,  in  which  he  was  reprini>i;ided,  and  in  de- 
fence brought  forward  an  elaborate  written  statement 
of  charges  and  proofs,  which  England  might  employ  in 
various  ways,  and  a  reply  to  which  was  denied  recep- 
tion.    Thus  the  whole  infamous  plot  did  not  succeed  ; 


MARY   OF   SCOTLAND.  883 


but  the  great  point  was  sufficiently  gained,  namely,  to 
so  overshadow  the  character  of  one  of  earth's  noblest 
and  purest  heroines,  that  she  could  be  held  in  lingering 
captivity. 

The  retribution  that  followed  the  perfidious  actors 
in  this  history,  is  remarkable.  Murray  did  not  long 
enjoy  his  success ;  he  was  shot  by  Hamilton,  in  re- 
venge of  maddening  injuries  done  to  the  family  of  the 
latter,  by  the  troops  of  the  former  ;  and  the  tears  Mary 
shed  for  him  were  witnesses  to  some  good  in  his  charac- 
ter, but  more  to  the  lofty  magnanimity  of  her  own. 
Lennox  and  Morton,  who  succeeded  him,  and  other 
participators  in  the  same  events,  after  covering  them- 
selves with  crime  or  cruelty  or  treachery,  one  by  one 
met  a  violent  death.  They  that  took  the  sword  perish- 
ed by  the  sword, 

Mary  was  but  twenty-five  when  she  entered  Eng- 
land. In  the  first  full  bloom  of  body  and  mind,  she 
was  doomed  to  a  thraldom  of  eighteen  years,  that  grad- 
ually destroyed  her  spirits  and  health,  and  ended  in 
the  bloody  vengeance  of  the  axe.  This  portion  of  her 
life  was  as  much  more  heroic  than  the  days  of  her  ac- 
tive achievements,  as  the  virtues  of  endurance  and  res- 
ignation are  more  noble  than  executive  talent.  She 
ceased  to  be  the  acknowledged  Queen  of  Scotland,  but 
she  gained  the  kingdom  of  her  own  ambitious  and 
afflicted  heart,  and  she  was  purified,  like  gold  tried  in 
the  fire,  for  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  She  was  taken 
from  one  castle  to  another,  and  committed  to  the  charge 
of  one  lord  after  another,  in  order  that  she  might  nei- 
ther gain  too  much   influence  over  her  keepers,  noi 


384  MARY    OF   SCOTLAISTD. 


carry  out  a  plan  of  escape ;  her  luxuries,  comforts,  at 
tendants   and    friends   were    continually   diminished, 
through  the  relentless  hatred  of  her  oppressor ;  and 
her  communication  with  friends  at  a  distance,  was  in- 
tercepted, as  far  as  possible. 

She  employed  herself  in  embroidery,  reading  and 
writing.  Some  of  her  poetical  efforts  are  preserved, 
and  are  beautiful  memorials  of  her  genius,  her  grief, 
and  her  christian  faith.  And  well  did  she  need  all  re- 
sources to  beguile  her  weary  days,  and  make  her  forget 
awhile  her  discomfort.  She  had  gradually  ceased  to 
be  remembered,  and  her  strong  party  at  home  was  by 
degrees  suppressed  and  thinned  by  death.  Her  haii 
turned  prematurely  gray  with  sorrow ;  her  strength 
from  want  of  exercise,  miserable  fare,  and  bad  accom 
modations,  failed  her ;  a  painful  symptom  of  disease, 
in  lier  left  side,  began  also  to  grow  upon  her. 

She  thus  describes  her  residence  at  Tutbury,  in 
1680  : — "  This  edifice,  detached  from  the  walls  about 
twenty  feet,  is  sunk  so  low  that  the  rampart  of  earth 
behind  the  wall  is  level  with  the  highest  part  of  the 
building,  so  that  here  the  sun  can  never  penetrate, 
neither  does  any  pure  air  ever  visit  this  habitation,  on 
which  descend  drizzling  damps  and  eternal  fogs,  to  such 
excess  that  not  an  article  of  furniture  can  be  placed  be- 
neath the  roof  but  in  four  days  it  becomes  covered  with 
green  mold.  I  leave  you  to  judge  in  what  manner  such 
humidity  must  act  upon  the  human  frame  ;  and,  to  say 
everything  in  one  word,  the  apartments  are  in  general 
more  like  dungeons  for  the  vilest  criminals  than  suited 
to  persons  of  a  station  far  inferior  to  mine,  inasmuch 


MARY   OF  SCOT r, AND.  885 


as  I  do  not  believe  there  is  a  lord  or  gentleman,  or 
even  jeoman  in  the  kingdom,  who  would  patiently  en- 
dure the  penance  of  living  in  so  wretched  a  habita- 
tion.    With  regard  to  accommodation,  I  have  for  mv 
own  person  but  two  miserable  little  chambers,  so  in- 
tensely cold  during  the   night,  tliat  but  for  ramparts 
and  intrenchments  of  tapestry  and  curtains,  it  would 
be  impossible  to  prolong  my  existence ;  and  of  those 
who  have  set  up  with  me  during  my  illness,  not  one 
has  escaped   malady.  *****  For  taking  air  and 
exercise  I  have  but  a  quarter  of  an  acre  behind  the 
stables."     To  aggravate  her  miseries  a  poor  priest  of 
her  faith  Avas  hung  before   her  window.     These  ac- 
counts are  translated  from  her  letters  in  French.     She 
who  was  the  glory  of  the  Louvre  and  the  pride  of 
Holy  rood,  was  at  last  the  neglected  prisoner  of  a  de- 
cayed hunting-lodge  in  the  midst  of  an  English  forest. 
Many  conspiracies  were  formed,  and  attempts  made, 
to  release  her  and  restore  her  to  her  throne.     The  chief 
of  these  was  by  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  an  English  no- 
ble, and  the  most  powerful  subject  in  Europe.     He  pro- 
posed secretly  for  Mary's  hand,  and  was  assured  that, 
though  on  general  grounds  she  was  averse  to  another 
marriage,  yet  she  would  favor  his  project  and  his  suit. 
For  this  he  was,  on  discovery,  imprisoned  nine  months 
in  the  Tower  of  London.     When  released,  he  set  about 
his  scheme  with  all  the  more  determination.     Spain 
and  Rome  were  to  aid  his  cause,  the  Duke  of  Alva  to 
land  with  an  array,  the  English  Catholics  to  rise,  and 
the  government  to  be  overturned.     But  a  second  dis- 
covery of  his  purpose,  sent  him  to  the  block.     He  died 
25 


386  JIAKY    OF  SCOTLAND. 


like  a  hero.  Mary  disclaimed  all  knowledge  of  his 
treasonable  designs  towards  Elizabeth,  though  she  ad- 
mitted his  efforts  to  release  herself;  and  she  was  not, 
therefore,  made  to  suffer  on  his  account. 

Simple  devotion  to  a  lovely  and  suffering  queen,  and 
private  ambition,  were  not  the  only  causes  of  disquiet 
in  England.  From  whatever  motive  trouble  was  made, 
it  inevitably  seized  upon  Mary's  name  as  its  rallying 
word.  Hence  an  association  of  nobles  was  formed  and 
sanctioned  by  Parliament,  for  the  purpose  of  prosecuting 
to  death  any  person  for  whom,  as  well  as  by  whom,  any 
movement  against  the  government  was  set  on  foot.  Never 
was  there  a  more  absurdly  unjust  course  of  procedure 
adopted.  It  became  a  law,  and  soon  had  occasion  of 
execution  against  its  real  object,  the  Queen  of  Scots.  - 
In  1586,  a  new  conspiracy  was  headed  by  Anthony 
Babington,  a  young  man  of  wealth  in  Derbyshire,  who 
had  heard  much  of  Mary  while  he  was  at  Paris.  He 
was  to  be  aided  in  the  same  manner  as  the  Duke  of 
Norfolk.  Some  letters  passed  between  him  and  Mary, 
but  there  is  no  evidence  of  her  initiation  into  the  trea- 
sonable part  of  the  plan.  It  was  discovered.  Four- 
teen of  the  leaders  were  executed,  six  of  whom  were 
pledged  to  assassinate  the  English  Queen.  Before  the 
news  had  reached  Mary,  she  was  officially  informed 
that  she  was  to  be  held  to  trial  as  an  accomplice.  The 
nation  was  so  greatly  excited  that  Elizabeth  saw  that 
she  might  prudently  go  to  any  extremity  against  her 
admired  prisoner. 

Mary  denied  the  jurisdiction  of  another  monarch 
over  her ;  but,  as  before,  she  was  persuaded  to  submit 


MARY   OF  SCOTLAND.  887 


to  trial,  lest  her  refusal  would  be  a  tacit  acknowledge 
ment  of  guilt.  The  mockery  of  a  court  was  held  at 
Fotheringaj  castle,  in  its  great  hall,  with  much  pc^mp. 
The  "  daughter  of  a  hundred  kings"  appeared,  worn 
out  with  confinement  and  grief,  but  still  resolute,  calm 
and  discerning,  before  the  greatest  lawyers  and  poli- 
ticians of  the  realm,  and  so  ably  answered  their  argu- 
ments that,  on  the  testimony  of  her  enemies  who  de- 
scribe the  scene,  she  confounded  her  prosecutors.  The 
old  artifice  was  again  used ;  the  court  was  adjourned 
to  a  distance  from  her,  at  Westminster ;  and  there,  of 
oourse,  she  was  condemned. 

The  shameless  tyrant  of  England  made  a  great  show 
of  reluctance  to  sign  the  death-warrant,  and  waited  to 
see  what  effect  the  verdict  would  have  abroad.  The 
King  of  France  interposed  feebly.  The  King  of  Scot- 
land would  have  saved  his  mother,  but  was  falselv 
counselled,  and  too  timid,  though  now  nineteen  years 
of  age.  The  warrant  was  signed ;  and  the  man  to 
whom  it  was  given  was  subsequently  imprisoned  for 
life,  on  the  hypocritical  plea  that  he  had  received  royal 
instructions  not  to  have  it  executed.  And  the  man 
who  was  the  keeper  of  the  doomed  victim,  was  enjoin- 
ed by  Elizabeth  to  secretly  murder  his  prisoner,  before 
the  sentence  could  be  carried  into  effect,  but  he  de- 
clined the  wickedness.  His  name  is  Sir  Amias  Paulet. 
Mary  requested  that  her  servants  might  witness  her 
constancy  in  death,  and  that  her  body  might  be  buried 
according  to  the  rites  of  her  church,  or  carried  to 
France ;  but  no  reply  is  known  to  have  been  made. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  7th  of  February,  1587,  the 


S88  MARY   OF   SCOTLAND. 


earls  who  were  to  carry  out  the  sentence,  reached 
Mary's  prison,  at  Potheringay.  They  respectfully  dis- 
closed their  business.  She  heard  them  calmly,  as  they 
read  the  death-warrant.  She  expressed  a  cheerful 
willingness  to  die,  and  made  solemn  oath,  on  the  Bi- 
ble, that  she  was  innocent  of  the  charge  for  which  she 
was  to  suffer.  She  inquired  about  her  son  and  the 
condition  of  things  abroad,  concerning  which  she  had 
been  kept  in  ignorance.  When  she  found  that  the 
execution  was  to  take  place  at  eight  o'clock,  the  next 
morning,  she  manifested  some  emotion,  but  soon  re 
gained  her  serenity.  From  the  first,  however,  her  at- 
tendants, consisting  of  six  waiting-maids,  a  physician, 
surgeon,  apothecary,  and  four  male  servants,  were  ex- 
treniely  agitated,  and,  when  the  lords  retired,  made 
great  lamentations.  She  knelt  with  them  and  prayed. 
At  supper,  the  last  repast  with  her  household,  she 
ate  lightly,  conversed  but  little,  looked  smilingly,  and 
drank  the  health  of  all  around  her,  calling  them  by 
name.  Then  she  carefully  disposed  of  all  her  money, 
furniture  and  jewels,  forgetting  none  of  her  friends 
near  her  or  at  a  distance.  After  this,  she  wrote  letters 
and  her  will,  which  occupied  two  large  sheets,  and  is  a 
fine  memento  of  her  strong  and  lucid  intellect  and  of 
her  noble  heart.  At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  she 
retired  to  her  bed,  and  rose  at  daybreak,  gathered  her 
little  company  of  adherents,  and  continued  in  prayer, 
until  a  knock  at  the  door  announced  the  fated  hour. 
No  priest  was  allowed  her ;  her  attendants  were  for- 
bidden to  see  her  die ;  but,  on  further  entreaty,  four 
males  and  two  females  of  these,  were  permitted  to  ac- 


MARY    OF  SCOTLAND.  389 


company  her.  To  Melvil,  the  chief  of  her  train,  she 
said,  weeping: — "Tell  my  son  that  I  thought  of  him 
in  my  last  moments,  and  that  I  have  never  yielded, 
either  in  word  or  deed,  to  aught  that  might  lead  to  his 
prejudice;  desire  him  to  preserve  the  memory  of  his 
unfortunate  parent,  and  may  he  be  a  thousand  times 
more  happy  and  more  prosperous  than  she  has  been." 
She  perished  in  the  room  that  had  been  the  scene  of 
her  trial.  A  scaffold,  carpeted  with  black,  was  at  one 
end,  and  on  it  were  two  English  earls  and  the  execu- 
tioners. Thither  she  was  led,  Melvil  bearing  the  train 
of  her  royal  robe.  She  was  dressed  in  state.  "  She 
wore  a  gown  of  black  silk,  bordered  with  crimson  vel- 
vet, over  which  was  a  satin  mantle;  a  long  veil  of 
white  crape,  stiffened  with  wire,  and  edged  vath  rich 
lace,  hung  down  almost  to  the  ground ;  round  her  neck 
was  suspended  an  ivory  crucifix."  The  ruins  of  her 
former  stately  and  blooming  self,  she  was  still  beauti- 
ful and  dignified.  The  warrant  of  death  was  read 
aloud;  she  trembled  not,  nor  changed  her  sublime 
tranquillit}^  of  countenance.  The  Dean  of  Peterboro' 
stepped  forth  from  the  two  hundred  spectators  and  sol- 
diers, and  began  to  lecture  her  on  points  of  doctrine. 
She  turned  from  him,  knelt,  and  prayed  aloud  for  her 
enemies,  and  for  the  comfort  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  Ri- 
sing, her  veil  and  necklace  were  removed.  The  cross, 
she  was  about  to  give  to  Jane  Kennedy,  but  the  exe- 
cutioner snatched  it  away  as  a  part  of  his  customary 
spoils.  Her  eyes  were  bound  with  a  gold-embroidered 
handkerchief,  her  head  laid  on  the  block,  and  from  her 
lips  breathed  the  words — "O  Lord,  in  thee  have  I 


S90  MARY   OF   SCOTLAND. 


hoped,  and  into  thy  hands  I  commit  my  spirit/'  Three 
awkward  blows  of  the  axe  severed  her  neck ;  her  head 
was  held  up  to  the  gaze  of  the  dumb  crowd ;  the  exe- 
cutioner cried — "God  save  Elizabeth  Queen  of  Eng- 
land !"  The  Earl  of  Kent  responded,  "  Thus  perish 
all  her  enemies."  Her  remains  were  left  rolled  up  in 
"old  green  baize,  taken  from  a  billiard-table,"  after- 
wards buried  with  display  in  the  Peterboro'  cathedral, 
and  finally,  a  quarter  of  a  century  after,  placed  in  a 
splendid  tomb  at  Westminster  Abbey,  by  her  son 
James,  who  removed  every  vestige  of  the  scene  of  her 
trial  and  death,  Fotheringay  castle. 

Mary  reached  the  age  of  forty-five  years.  Her  ac- 
tive life  was  between  the  ages  of  sixteen  and  twenty- 
five.  No  queen  ever  possessed  higher  talents  or  vir- 
tues. Her  faults  were  the  noble  ones  of  a  warm, 
trustful  heart  and  of  ardent  youth.  She  confided  in 
the  treacherous  too  often;  she  had  not  learned  that 
there  are  always  many  persons  utterly  dead  to  every 
claim  of  reason,  honor  and  generosity.  Keigning  in 
maturer  years,  she  would  have  vindicated  her  com- 
manding intellect.  As  her  enemies  were  often  detesta- 
ble in  the  face  of  their  truer  belief,  so  was  she  tolerant, 
deeply  religious  and  grandly  upright,  in  spite  of  her 
superstitious  creed.  Her  character  was  frank  and 
beautifully  proportionate.  Never  would  mere  bril- 
liancy of  person  and  of  mind,  have  excited  such  glow- 
ing friendships,  such  bitter  envies,  such  lasting  admi- 
ration and  world-wide  sympathy. 


OATHERIKE  OF  RUSSIA. 


3     5    5    3    3 
>     >     >    >     ) 


3   3   5   > 
>5   >   , 


>    >   >  >   3 

3    ?     3    5 


•  •  •  •  I 


•  •  «  < 

•  «  •  < 


■  •  • 

•  c  < 


:EhS^  ir  A  P^oloT. 


^'^l/S' /yl77./:  // 


Catjimne  nf  HuMta, 

"Why,  I  can  smile,  and  murder  while  I  smile; 
And  cry  content  to  that  which  grieves  my  heart; 
And  wet  my  cheek  with  artificial  tears; 
And  frame  my  face  to  all  occasions." — Shakspeabb. 

The  long  and  conspicuous  reign  of  Catherine  II,  waa 
one  of  great  tragical  interest,  and  signalized  by  mem- 
orable events.  Her  mind  was  subtle  and  vigorous 
but  it  is  impossible  to  regard  her  character  with  any 
other  feelings  than  those  of  disgust  and  pity.  She 
presented  herself  to  the  world,  under  a  mask  of  benev- 
olence, sincerity,  wisdom,  and  piety,  beneath  which 
lurked  detestable  hypocrisy,  licentiousness,  vanity, 
and  an  ambition  that  aspired  to  great  actions  and  re- 
forms, for  the  sake  of  renown,  rather  than  the  good  of 
mankind.  Anxious  to  out-figure  her  "  great"  prede- 
cessors in  the  eyes  of  posterity,  she  selected  her  histo 
rian,  and  charged  him  not  to  record  the  assistance  of 
any  one  in  the  accomplishment  of  certain  events,  bu . 
to  give  the  entire  credit  to  her  own  wisdom  and  cour 
age.  She  would  have  succeeding  generations  accepi 
tier  as  a  model  empresp  ' — she  who  began  her  reig» 


CATHERINE  OF   RUSSIA. 


With  the  secret  assassination  of  the  three  rightful  heir? 
to  the  throne,  and  ended  it,  with  the  unjust  and  exe- 
crable division  of  Poland. 

In  order  to  understand  the  steps,  by  which  she,  a 
comparatively  obscure  princess,  acquired  the  crown  of 
the  Russias,  it  is  necessary  to  refer  to  the  reign  of  her 
immediate  predecessor. 

Elizabeth,  the  youngest  daughter  of  Peter  the  Great, 
was  proclaimed  empress  in  1741,  by  means  of  a  revolt 
which  deposed  her  cousin  Anne  and  the  infant  Prince 
Ivan,  for  whom  she  acted  as  regent.  The  unfortunate 
Ivan  was  immured  in  the  dungeon  of  Schlusselburgh, 
Odd  his  parents  imprisoned  in  a  fortress  on  the  shores 
of  the  Arctic  ocean. 

Although  Elizabeth  was  an  amiable,  gentle,  beauti- 
ful woman,  possessed  of  winning  manners,  and  a  hu- 
manity that  prompted  her  to  take  a  vow — "  Never  to 
put  a  subject  to  death  upon  any  provocation  whatever," 
yet  through  the  influence  of  favorites,  and  the  intoxi- 
cation of  unlimited  power,  her  reign  was  marked  by 
injustice,  and  atrocious  cruelties,  and  she  became  timid, 
weak,  intemperate,  and  notoriously  licentious.  She 
Helected  for  her  successor,  Peter,  the  son  of  her  eldest 
sister.  In  order  to  have  him  under  her  immediate  su- 
perintendence, she  caused  him  to  be  brought  from 
Holstein,  where  his  education  was  progressing  under 
the  enlightened  Brumner.  By  some  strange  caprice, 
she  supplied  him  with  a  narrow-minded,  illiterate  tutor, 
and  to  prevent  any  revolution  in  his  favor,  kept  him 
almost  a  prisoner,  surrounded  by  spies  and  ignorant 
persons  who  engaged  him  in  amusements  and  frivolous 


CATHERINE   OF   RUSSIA,  395 


occupations  that  assisted  to  suppress  whatever  talent 
and  vigor,  or  energy  of  character,  he  possessed. 

Some  estimable  persons;  and  ladies  of  the  court  at 
Petersburg,  remonstrated  with  the  empress  for  her 
singular  treatment  of  one  who  should  be  better  fitted 
to  occupy  the  throne,  but  she  tutned  a  deaf  ear  to  their 
intercessions.  One  of  her  attendants  ventured  to  sug- 
gest the  evil  that  such  an  education  was  producing 
apon  the  character  of  the  grand  dnke.  "If  your  ma- 
jesty," said  this  courageous  friend,  "  do  not  permit  the 
prince  to  know  anything  of  what  is  necessary  for  gov- 
erning the  country,  what  do  you  think  will  become  of 
him  ?  and  what  do  you  think  will  become  of  the  em- 
pire?" Elizabeth,  turning  sternly  to  her  attendant, 
said  in  a  measured,  threatening  tone,  *'  Joanna,  knowest 
thou  the  road  to  Siberia  V  These  words  were  sufficient 
to  silence  future  remonstrances. 

In  1747,  Elizabeth  determined  to  select  a  spouse  for 
Peter ;  she  was  guided  in  her  choice  by  the  King  of 
Prussia,  who  recommended  a  daughter  of  the  Prmce 
of  Anhalt-Zerbst.  She  was  inclined  to  look  favorably 
upon  this  alliance,  from  the  fact  that  she  had  once  sin- 
cerely loved  an  uncle  of  the  princess,  and  after  his 
death  resolved  never  to  marry. 

Princess  Sophia  Agiista  Frederica  was  born  at  Stet- 
tin, May  2d,  1729.  Her  father  was  commander-in 
chief  in  the  Prussian  service,  and  governor  of  the  town 
and  fortress  of  Stettin.  Her  mother  was  a  woman  of 
distinguished  beauty,  prudence  and  good  sense ;  she 
took  upon  herself  the  education  of  Sophia,  who  receiv- 
ed the  famihar  nick-name  of  Fi^ke  among  her  compan- 


896  CATHERINE   OF   RUSSIA. 


ions.  These  were  selected  without  reference  to  then- 
rank,  for  her  mother  endeavored  to  cultivate  the  sim- 
plest manners,  to  suppress  pride,  a  predominant  charac- 
teristic of  Sophia,  and  to  insist  upon  her  respectfullj 
saluting  ladies  of  distinction,  who  visited  the  house. 
Among  her  play-fellows  she  invariably  took  the  prin- 
cipal part,  often  bringing  into  exercise  an  imperious, 
commanding  temper.  She  was  educated  in  the  Luther- 
an religion,  was  early  instructed  from  the  best  authors, 
and  was  disposed  to  study  and  reflection.  Her  seclu- 
sion was  occasionally  varied  by  excursions  and  visits 
to  Hamburgh  and  Berlin,  in  company  with  her  mother  ; 
these  visits  fitted  her  for  an  after  appearance  at  court. 

At  the  suggestion  of  the  King  of  Prussia,  the  Prin- 
cess of  Zerbst  repaired  to  Petersburg  with  her  daugh- 
ter, hoping  by  means  of  Sophia's  attractions  and  the 
reminiscences  of  Elizabeth's  aflfection  for  her  brother, 
to  secure  an  alliance  with  Peter.  They  were  cordially 
received  by  the  empress ;  the  grand  duke  was  quickly 
an  admirer  of  the  young  princess,  who,  now  in  her 
sixteenth  year,  added  lively  manners  to  an  agreeable, 
if  not  handsome  face.  She  as  readily  regarded  him 
favorably,  for  at  this  time  his  countenance  was  fresh, 
good-humored  and  pleasing,  and  his  person  of  good 
stature  and  finely  formed.  With  such  mutual  good- 
will, therefore,  but  little  time  was  required  to  make  and 
accept  proposals  of  marriage.  As  a  necessary  prelimi- 
nary, Sophia  adopted  the  Greek  religion,  and  received 
the  name  of  Catherine  Alexiena.  Magnificent  prepa- 
rations were  made  for  the  approaching  nuptials,  but  in 
the  midst  of  this  fair  sailing,  the  grand  duke  was  at 


CATHERIJfE   OF   RUSSIA.  397 


tacked  with  a  violent  fever,  which  soon  divulged  a 
malignant  form  of  the  small-pox.  He  recovered  in  a 
few  weeks,  but  his  face  was  for  some  time  distorted  and 
actuallv  hideous  with  the  marks  of  a  disease  which  dis- 
fisfured  him  for  Hfe. 

Catherine,  who  had  been  carefully  kept  in  distant, 
apartments,  was  prepared  by  her  mother  for  the  change 
in  the  appearance  of  her  royal  lover,  and  warned  not 
to  betray  the  aversion  she  might  feel  on  seeing  him, 
lest  the  fine  air-castles  they  had  been  building  should 
be  blown  away  at  a  breath.  Catherine  promised  to 
conceal  her  emotions,  and  attired  as  becomingly  as  pos- 
sible, was  conducted  to  the  presence  of  the  grand  duke. 
She  played  her  part  well ;  with  consummate  art  she 
approached  Peter  in  her  usual  lively  and  graceful  way, 
threw  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  kissed  his  cheek, 
apparently  with  devoted  affection.  She  had  no  sooner 
oained  her  own  apartments,  however,  than  she  fell 
senseless,  and  remained  unconscious  for  three  hours. 
This  extreme  repugnance,  which  she  had  so  success- 
fully dissembled,  did  not  interfere  for  a  moment  with 
the  ambitious  designs  that  already  outweighed  every 
other  consideration. 

The  marriage  was  accordingly  solemnized,  in  1747. 
Catherine  retained  an  outward  show  of  affection  and 
respect,  as  long  as  she  thought  necessary,  but  she  soon 
felt  her  decided  superiority.  Talented,  accomplished, 
speaking  several  languages  ^vith  facility,  dignified  and 
winning  in  her  deportment,  she  easily  and  becomingly 
tilled  her  distinguished  position,  while  Peter,  who  had 
good  sense  and  'x  kind  confiding  heart,  had  been  spoiled 


898  CATHERINE   OF   RUSSIA. 


by  a  base  education,  lacked  polish  and  intelligencr^ 
and  blushed  at  his  inferiority  in  the  presence  of  his  wife. 
He  regarded  her  with  pride,  and  admired  the  facility 
and  fitness  with  which  she  acted  the  grand  duchess. 

Determined  to  over-rule  and  deprive  hun  of  the  ex- 
pected succession  by  placing  the  crown  upon  her  own 
brow,  she  was  easily  induced  to  engage  in  the  conspira- 
cies formed  against  him  by  persons,  who  preferred  to 
see  the  ambitious  Catherine  upon  the  throne.  Every 
possible  means  were  taken  to  blacken  the  character  of 
the  grand  duke  in  the  eyes  of  Elizabeth.  Slanderous 
reports  were  daily  conveyed  to  her  by  one  of  her  ladies 
of  honor,  who  was  engaged  in  the  intrigues  of  the 
court.  On  one  occasion  when  she  lamented  the  intem- 
perate habits  of  the  prince,  the  empress  shocked  at  this 
new  charge,  insisted  she  would  not  believe  it,  till 
proved.  The  artful  attendant  took  the  first  opportuni- 
ty to  dine  with  Peter,  and,  by  secretly  putting  an  opi- 
ate in  his  wine,  succeeded  in  prevailing  upon  him  to 
unconsciously  drink  to  excess ;  when  he  was  suflicient- 
ly  intoxicated  the  deceitful  woman  hastened  to  call  the 
empress.  Bestucheff,  the  great  chancellor,  superintend- 
ed these  manoeuvres  by  writing  directions  each  day, 
on  scraps  of  paper,  indicating  the  course  of  conduct 
each  interested  person  was  to  pursue.  These  he  en- 
closed in  a  snuff-box  with  a  double  bottom,  and,  under 
pretence  of  offering  snuff",  succeeded  in  conveying  them 
to  those  for  whom  they  were  inU  nded,  without  obser- 
vation. 

Soon  after  the  marriage  of  Peter,  the  empress  pre- 
sented him  with  the  palace  of  Oranienbaum,  at  some 


CATHERINE   OF   RTSSIA.  309 


distance  from  Petersburg;  there  he  preferred  to  re- 
main, iu  freedom  from  his  aunt's  continual  scrutiny 
and  reproaches.  For  his  amusement  he  formed  a  guard 
of  Holstein  soldiers,  and  instructed  them  for  several 
hours,  each  day,  in  the  Prussian  exercises.  He  als( 
gathered  about  him  those  who  had  talent  for  music  or 
the  drama,  besides  a  number  of  dissipated  companions. 
Knowing  his  passion  for  imitating  everything  Prussian, 
they  persuaded  him  to  gamble,  drink  and  engage  in 
other  vices,  assuring  him  that  every  ofi&cer  in  Prussia 
did  the  same. 

In  the  meantime  Catherine,  wearied  with  the  solitude 
of  this  country  palace  and  entertaining  no  aifection  for 
her  husband,  received  the  admiration  of  SoltiJioft",  the 
prince's  chamberlain,  a  man  of  polished  address  and 
attractive  appearance.  Elizabeth  soon  heard  the  con- 
sequent scandal,  and  made  her  displeasure  evident, 
though  not  fitted  to  reprove  the  misconduct  for  which 
she  was  notorious  herself  By  artful  representations, 
Catherine  was  reinstated  in  her  favor,  but  the  empress 
had  frequent  occasion  to  reprimand  both  of  her  bellige- 
rent wards,  and  seemed  seriously  to  think  of  appoint 
ing  Paul,  the  infant  son  of  Catherine,  her  successor, 
with  a  regent  to  reign  during  his  minority.  Fearing 
this,  Catherine  assiduously  applied  herself  to  regaining 
the  good- will  of  the  empress,  exalted  herself  in  the 
eyes  of  the  people  by  attending  church  daily  with  a 
devout  air,  during  the  illness  of  the  empress,  and  as- 
sisted the  intriguing  party  that  favored  her  schemes  by 
placing  Peter  in  an  odious  light  before  the  courtiers 
and  the  populace. 


400  CATHERINE   OF   RUSSIA. 


At  Elizabeth's  death,  which  occurred  earlj  in  1762, 
in  a  fit  of  intoxication,  she  was  made  to  repeat  words 
of  the  attending  priest  that  expressed  affection  for  the 
grand  duke  and  duchess  and  named  them  her  succes- 
sors. As  soon  as  tlie  royal  message  reached  Peter, 
which  "commanded  him  to  live  long," — the  Eussian 
form  of  announcing  death,  he  passed  in  state  through 
the  streets  of  Petersburg,  causing  himself  to  be  pro- 
claimed emperor,  under  the  name  of  Peter  III.  Not- 
withstanding the  contempt  which  the  conspirators  had 
sought  to  bring  upon  him,  he  was  enthusiastically  re- 
ceived by  the  people. 

He  began  his  reign  with  popular  measures.     One  of 
his  first  acts  was  to  recall  a  multitude  of  state  prison- 
ers, exiled  to  Siberia  by  the  tyrannical  and  suspicious 
temper  of  Elizabeth.     He  took  no  revenge  upon  his 
enemies,  permitted   the   nobility  to  travel  abroad  at 
their  pleasure,  and  allowed  them  to  join  the  military 
service  or  not,  as  they  chose.     He  also  abolished  the 
secret  tribunal  which  had  long  been  a  terror  to  the 
Eussians.     Every  one  was  in  transports  of  delight  with 
the  new  emperor,  who  had  suddenly  become  a  wise, 
dignified,  temperate  prince.     His  affection  for  Catherine 
returned,  and  he  treated  her  with  the  utmost  kindness 
and  attention,  forgetting  her  unfaithfulness  and  coldness. 
She  however  withheld  the  advice  and  guidance  she 
was  capable  of  giving,  and  which  Peter  looked  for. 
Wearied  with  her  repulsive  coldness  and  imperious 
harshness,  surrounded  by  a  deceitful  court,  with  not  a 
single  friend  to  whom  he  could  turn  with  confidence, 
and  bewildered  with  cares  for  which  his  education  and 


CATHERINE    OF   RUSSIA.  401 


life  had  not  prepared  him,  he  returned  to  his  vicious 
habits,  unable  with  his  blunt  perceptions  to  detect,  or 
even  suspect,  the  conspiracies  formed  against  him.  In 
fact  he  was  too  much  engaged  in  plots  of  his  own  to 
perceive  that  any  others  were  in  progress.  Jealous  and 
suspicious  of  his  wife,  he  had  thoughts  of  displacing 
her  and  her  heir,  and  naming  for  his  successor  Prince 
Ivan,  who,  for  more  than  twenty  years,  had  been  im- 
mured in  a  dungeon.  Peter  secretly  visited  the  un- 
happy prince,  and  soon  after  had  him  brought  privately 
to  Petersburg  and  concealed  in  an  obscure  house. 

Catherine,  whom  Peter  had  dismissed  to  the  palace 
of  Peterhoff,  occupied  her  leisure  and  retirement  in  in- 
stigating and  perfecting  plots  against  the  emperor, 
while  she  appeared  to  take  part  in  none  of  them.  The 
Princess  Dashkoif,  then  only  eighteen,  quick,  witty, 
courageous,  learned,  and  with  remarkable  talent  for  in- 
trigue, remained  at  court  for  the  purpose  of  keeping 
Catherine  informed  of  every  circumstance  that  transpired. 
It  was  not  only  an  attachment  for  the  empress  that  in- 
duced her  to  such  a  course,  but  jealousy  towards  a  sister 
who  was  the  openly  acknowledged  favorite  of  the  em- 
peror, and  a  base  ambition  to  be  the  leader  of  a  faction. 

The  other  principal  personages  were  Count  Panin, 
preceptor  to  the  young  prince,  a  man  of  obscure  birth, 
and  a  character  in  which  obstinacy  and  cunning  were 
predominant;  Gregory  Orloff,  Catherine's  last  lover, 
noted  for  courage  and  beauty,  and  his  brother  Alexey, 
both  of  them  officers  in  the  guards.  Another,  Cyril 
Razumoffsky,  the  hetman  or  commander  of  the  Cos- 
Backs,  having  much  influence  at  court  and  possessed  of 
26 


402  CATHERINE   OF   RUSSIA. 


immense  wealth,  besides  being  a  favorite  among  the 
troops,  was   au   important   assistant.      By   the   secret 
machinations  of  all  these  haughty  heads  |  ut  togethei 
the  conspiracy  was  ripe  for  execution.     Peter  III.,  whi 
was  nearly  ready  to  put  himself  at  the  head  of  a  wait 
ing  army,  destined  to  war  against  Denmark,  was  to  b( 
seized  on  his  arrival  at  Peterhoff,  where  he  expected  tc 
celebrate  a  festival  previous  to  his  departure  for  Den 
mark.     He  was  now  engaged  in  revels  at  his  countr_^ 
palace  of  Oranienbaum. 

Catherine  meanwhile  lived  in  daily  fear  and  unen 
durable  anxiety  lest  her  schemes  should  be  discovered 
Even  her  dreams  were  haunted  with  guilty  terrors, 
she  frequently  paced  the  floor  of  her  apartments,  half 
the  night,  for  sleep  fled  from  her  frightened  eyelids. 

An  unexpected  occurrence  hastened  the  execution 
of  the  conspirators'  designs.  Passick,  a  lieutenant  in 
the  guards,  had  gained  the  soldiers  of  his  company. 
One  of  them,  supposing  nothing  was  done  without  the 
concurrence  of  the  captain,  innocently  asked  him  on 
what  day  they  were  to  take  up  arms  against  the  empe- 
ror. The  captain  concealed  his  surprise,  and  cunning 
ly  drew  from  the  unsuspecting  soldier  the  whole  secret. 
Passick  was  immediately  arrested  and  put  under  guard, 
but  he  managed  to  write  hastily  upon  a  slip  of  paper, 
"Proceed  to  execution  this  instant  or  we  are  undone  !'• 
and  gave  it  to  a  spy,  who  hurried  with  it  to  the  Princesa 
Dashkoff.  She  quickly  informed  the  conspirators,  and, 
though  late  at  night,  she  assumed  man's  apparel,  and 
went  out  to  meet  them  upon  an  unfrequented  bridge, 
where  their  plans  were  quickly  formed- 


CATHERINE   OF   RUSSIA.  408 


The  emjjress  had  vacated  the  palace  at  Peterhoff,  to 
leave  the  apartments  free  for  the  festival ;  she  occupied 
a  summer-house  in  the  garden  of  the  palace,  at  the  ex- 
tremity of  which  was  a  canal,  connected  with  the  Neva, 
that  gave  private  access  to  the  gardens,  by  means  of  a 
small  boat  fastened  there.  Catherine  was  sleeping  here 
at  midnight,  when  she  was  suddenly  aroused,  and  be- 
held a  soldier  standing  at  her  bedside.  "Your  majesty 
has  not  a  moment  to  lose ;  get  ready  to  follow  me !" 
said  he.  Terrified  and  astonished,  the  empress  arose, 
£alled  her  attendant  Ivanovna,  and  dressed  in  haste. 
The  soldier  returned  for  them;  they  followed  him  to  a 
carriage  that  stood  waiting,  and  found  Alexey  Orloff, 
impatient  for  their  appearance.  The  empress  and  her 
maid  were  placed  in  the  vehicle ;  Alexey  took  the  reins 
and  set  off  at  full  speed  for  Petersburg,  twenty  miles 
distant.  Suddenly  the  horses  stopped  and  fell  down, 
and  no  efforts  of  Alexey  and  his  companion  could  urge 
them  on.  Their  danger  was  every  moment  increasing  • 
it  was  still  night,  and  several  miles  were  yet  to  be  trav- 
ersed ;  the  empress  was  finally  obliged  to  leave  the 
carriage,  and  they  resolved  to  pursue  their  way  on  foot. 
Impatient  to  reach  uhe  city,  and  filled  with  terror,  they 
fled  rather  than  walked  along  the  road,  not  knowing 
what  moment  they  might  be  pursued.  They  had  not 
gone  far  before  they  met  a  light  country  cart.  Alexey 
Orloff  seized  the  poor  peasant's  horses,  and  the  empress 
and  her  maid  sprang  into  the  rough  vehicle  ;  leaving 
the  owner  standing  aghast  in  the  midst  of  the  road, 
they  sped  away  to  the  capital. 

Catherine,  worn  out  with  fatigue  and  excitement,  ar 


404  CATHERINE    OF    lUTSSIA. 


rived  at  seven  in  the  morning,  but  without  taking  rest, 
proceeded  to  the  quarter  of  the  soldiers.  Seeing  but  few 
who  issued  from  the  barracks  with  clamorous  greeting^ 
she  hesitated  a  moment,  trembling;  an  instant's  thought 
suggested  a  deception  by  which  to  gain  the  whole  de- 
tachment. In  a  speech,  she  assured  them  that  the 
Czar,  her  husband,  had  attempted  to  murder  her  and 
her  son  that  very  night ;  that  she  had  just  escaped,  and 
now  threw  herself  on  their  protection.  The  incensed 
soldiers,  believing  what  she  said,  swore  to  defend  her; 
the  cry  of  "  Long  live  the  Empress  Catherine !"  went 
up  with  enthusiastic  demonstrations ;  the  Orloffs  se- 
cured a  like  reception  from  their  regiments,  and  no  one 
dared  to  stop  the  singular  proceedings,  except  Villebois, 
General  of  the  Artillery,  who  attempted  to  remonstrate. 
Catherine  turned  round,  and,  in  an  imperious  tone,  de- 
manded what  he  intended  to  do.  Confused  and  con- 
founded with  her  commanding  manner,  he  could  only 
stammer  out,  "  To  obey  your  majesty !"  and  immedi- 
ately delivered  the  arsenals  and  magazines  of  the  city 
into  her  hands.  It  had  required  but  two  hours  to  ac- 
complish this  feat,  and,  withoui  bloodshed,  Catherine 
saw  herself  surrounded  by  two  tnousand  warriors,  be- 
sides the  inhabitants  of  Petersburg,  who  imitated  the 
movements  of  the  sddiers. 

In  the  afternoon  she  repaired  to  the  church  of  Kafan^ 
where  the  Archbishop  of  Novogorod,  in  sacerdotal  robes, 
accompanied  by  numerous  priests,  wearing  long  beards, 
was  ready  to  receive  her  at  the  altar.  He  placed  the 
crown  upon  her  head,  proclaimed  her  the  sovereign  of 
the  Russias,  as  Catherine  II.  and  the  grand  duke  Paul 


CATHERINE   OF   RUSSIA  406 


Petrovitch  her  successor.  The  shouts  of  the  multitude 
who  crowded  the  church  were  hushed  by  the  chant  of 
the  Te  Deum  that  solemnly  swelled  above  the  vast  as- 
semblage. The  ceremony  concluded,  the  empress  re- 
paired to  the  palace  that  had  been  occupied  by  Eliza- 
beth, and  for  several  hours  received  the  crowds  who 
thronged  the  apartments  to  take  the  oath  of  allegiance. 
The  chancellor  Vorontzoff,  father  of  the  Princess  Dash- 
koff,  but  a  firm  adherent  to  the  emperor's  cause,  ven- 
tured to  warn  Catherine  of  the  danger  to  which  she 
exposed  herself.  She  replied  with  insulting  impudence 
and  hypocritical  innocence,  "You  see  how  it  is ;  I 
really  cannot  do  otherwise  ;  I  am  only  yielding  to  the 
ardent  sensibility  of  the  nation  1"  The  chancellor  was 
attended  to  his  own  house  by  a  guard  !  At  six  in  the 
evening,  Catherine,  crowned  with  oak-leaves  and  with  a 
sword  in  her  hand,  mounted  her  horse,  and,  accompa- 
nied by  Princess  Dashkoff  and  the  hetman  Razumoflf- 
sky,  placed  herself  at  the  head  of  the  troops  at  Peters- 
burg, and  went  out  to  meet  those  who  were  encamped 
at  a  distance,  in  order  to  secure  their  adherence  before 
Peter  should  command  their  attendance  upon  himself. 
During  all  these  rapid  and  singular  movements, 
Peter  III.  in  unsuspecting  ignorance,  set  out  for  the 
expected  festivities  of  Peterhoflf,  with  the  ladies  and 
courtiers  who  had  been  revelling  at  his  palace  of  Ora- 
nienbaum.  While  riding  gaily  along  the  road  to  Pe- 
terhoff,  they  were  met  by  one  of  Catherine's  attendants, 
who  said  the  em})ress  had  escaped  and  was  nowhere 
to  be  found.  Peter,  confounded  and  unbelieving,  has- 
tened to  the  palace,  searched  the  apartments,  fled  frorn 


4-06  CATHERINE    OF    IIURSIA. 


one  place  to  another  in  the  greatest  fright,  questioned 
all  whom  he  met,  but  was  unable  to  solve  the  mystery. 
While  all  about  him  were  filled  with  gloomy  forebo 
dings,  a  countryman  rode  rapidly  up  to  the  group, 
made  a  profound  inclination  of  the  body,  and,  without 
uttering  a  word,  drew  from  the  bosom  of  his  caftan  a 
sealed  note  and  presented  it  to  the  emperor.  This  re- 
vealed the  occurrences  at  Petersburg,  and  his  wife's 
duplicity. 

The  terror  of  the  emperor  increased  every  moment, 
but  the  tears  of  the  women  about  him  and  the  advice 
of  his  young  courtiers,  availed  hiin  nothing.  Munich, 
whom  he  had  released  from  exile  in  Siberia,  presented 
himself  and  suggested  the  only  practicable  course  to 
pursue,  telling  him  to  put  himself  at  the  head  of  such 
troops  as  were  left  and  march  to  Petersburg,  where  the 
sight  of  the  emperor  might  effect  a  counter-revolution. 
But  the  news  that  Catherine,  with  her  army,  was  al- 
ready marching  towards  Peterhoff,  so  frightened  the 
cowardly  emperor  that  he  accepted  the  last  advice  of 
Munich,  threw  himself  into  a  yacht,  precipitately  fol- 
lowed by  the  weeping  women  and  unnanly  courtiers, 
and  went  to  Cronstadt,  an  important  port  in  the  gulf 
of  Finland,  which  Munich  knew  would  afford  him  am- 
ple means  of  defence,  if  the  inhabitants  and  garrison 
still  adhered  to  the  emperor's  cause.  Catherine  had 
been  too  quick  for  them.  They  no  sooner  arrived  in 
port  than  the  sentinels  cried  out,  "  Who  comes  there?" 
"The  emperor,"  was  the  reply.  "Long  live  the  Em- 
press Catherine, '  rang  out  from  the  soldiers,  who 
threatened  to  sink  the  yacht  if  they  did  not  put  off  in 


CATHERINE   OF    RUSSIA.  407 


an  instant,  Munich  entreated  Peter  to  spring  upon 
shore,  and  all  might  yet  be  his;  but,  like  a  terrified 
child,  he  lan  into  the  cabin  and  hid  himself  among  the 
terrified  women.  Nothing  could  be  done  but  row  the 
infatuated,  imbecile  prince  back  to  Oranienbaum. 

Here  he  wrote  a  letter  to  the  empress,  promising 
submission  and  acknowledging  his  misconduct.  She 
deigned  him  no  answer,  but  with  her  army  approached 
liis  palace.  At  first  he  ordered  a  horse,  intending  to 
fly  to  the  frontiers  of  Poland,  but,  always  irresolute, 
he  changed  his  plan  and  directed  his  fortress  to  be  dis- 
mantled and  his  Holstein  guard  to  retire  to  a  distance, 
that  Catherine  might  be  touched  by  his  entire  surrender. 
She  caused  him  to  be  seized,  however,  and  placed  in 
close  confinement,  till  he  wrote  and  signed  a  declara- 
tion that  he  was  not  capable  of  reigning  and  that  he 
voluntarily  abdicated  the  throne.  Even  this  did  not 
serve  to  secure  his  liberty.  The  same  night  he  was 
conducted  by  a  strong  guard  to  Ropscha,  a  small  im- 
perial palace,  about  fourteen  miles  from  Petersburg. 
In  despair  at  his  sad  prospects  of  imprisonment,  he 
sent  a  message  to  Catherine,  entreating  her  to  send  an 
old  negro  buffoon  who  had  often  amused  him,  a  fa- 
vorite dog,  his  violin,  a  Bible,  and  a  few  romances. 
She  maintained  a  scornful  silence. 

Catherine  had  been  crowned  empress ;  she  had  pub- 
lished a  manifesto,  declaring  her  motives  to  have  been 
a  tender  love  for  her  people,  and  anxiety  for  the  pres- 
ervation of  the  holy  Greek  religion  ;  she  had  used 
ev3ry  means  to  beguile  and  deceive  the  troops,  who 
were  necessarv  to  her  success :  but  she  still  felt  inse- 


408  CATHERINE   OF   RUSSIA, 


cure.  She  was  alarmed  at  the  murmurings  and  resist- 
ance of  various  distant  towns  and  cities,  which  would 
have  dechired  for  Peter  III,  had  he  succeeded  in  pre- 
senting himself  before  them,  A  career  of  guilt  once 
commenced  leads  to  manifold  crimes.  Probably  Cath- 
erine, in  her  first  design  of  seizing  the  crown,  had  no 
thought  of  imbruing  her  hands  in  the  blood  of  those 
who,  as  descendants  of  Peter  the  Great  and  rightful 
heirs  to  the  throne,  were  revered  in  the  eyes  of  the 
people.  Harassed  by  constant  fears  of  insurrection 
and  unwilling  to  resign  what  she  had  so  dexterously 
grasped,  she  listened  to  the  whispered  suggestions  of 
the  fiendish  courtiers  who  had  thus  far  assisted  her 
and  connived  at,  or  at  least  did  not  prevent,  the  assas- 
sination of  Peter  III.,  in  order  to  remove  one  so  ob- 
noxious to  her  repose. 

This  act  was  accomplished  with  such  secrecy  and 
deception,  that  the  emperor's  disappearance  long  re- 
mained a  mystery,  though  no  one  hesitated  to  cast  sus- 
picion on  Catherine.  The  revolting  details  have  since 
been  revealed.  Alexey  Orloflf,  noted  for  his  strength 
and  brutality,  undertook  with  two  companions  the  ex- 
ecution of  the  deed.  Seven  days  after  the  empress  had 
been  crowned,  which  occurred  June  28th,  1762,  Alexey 
repaired  to  the  palace  where  Peter  was  confined,  and, 
as  he  had  often  done  before,  dined  with  the  emperor. 
Lieutenant  Passek,  who  was  present,  assisted  him  in 
introducing  poison  into  the  wine  poured  out  for  Peter, 
The  unsuspecting  emperor  drank  freelj^  and  presently 
was  seized  with  violent  pain.  Recognizing  the  design, 
he  called  for  milk  to  allay  his  sufferings,  and  mingling 


CATHERINE   OF   RUSSIA.  409 


his  cries  of  agony  with  reproaches.  They  agjiin  pressed 
him  to  swallow  more  of  the  ftital  beverage,  but  he  re- 
sisted with  all  his  strength.  His  valet,  hearing  the 
noise,  rushed  in.  Peter  threw  himself  in  his  arms,  ex 
claiming  faintly,  "  It  was  not  enough  to  deprive  me  of 
the  throne  of  Russia! — I  must  now  be  murdered!" 
The  valet  attempted  to  defend  him,  but  Orloff  with  his 
giant  strength  easily  thrust  him  from  the  room,  and  re- 
turned to  his  victim.  The  emperor  fought  with  the 
strength  of  despair,  but  after  a  fierce  and  terrible  strug- 
gle he  was  thrown  to  the  floor  and  strangled  with  a 
napkin,  snatched  from  the  dinner-table. 

Alexey  Orloff  immediately  mounted  his  horse  and 
rode  at  full  speed  to  Petersburg,  to  inform  the  em- 
press. On  his  arrival  he  found  her  just  going  to  make 
her  appearance  at  court.  She  maintained  her  compo- 
sure, ease,  and  usual  gayety,  dined  in  public,  and  in 
the  evening  again  held  a  court.  The  following  day 
while  she  was  dining  with  the  foreign  ministers  and  a 
few  courtiers,  a  messenger  was  ushered  in  with  great 
ceremony  and  announced  the  tidings  of  the  emperor's 
death.  Catherine  immediately  arose  from  table,  and, 
with  her  handkerchief  at  her  eyes,  hastened  to  shut 
herself  in  her  own  apartments,  where  she  remained  for 
several  days,  as  if  overwhelmed  with  sorrow.  During 
that  time,  she  caused  a  manifesto  to  be  published, 
which,  after  mentioning  his  illness,  declared  that  "  in 
obedience  to  the  divine  command,  by  which  we  are  en- 
joined to  preserve  the  life  of  our  neiglibor,  we  ordered 
that  Peter  should  be  furnished  with  everything  that 
might  be  judged  uecessarv  to  restore,  his  health."     It 


410  CATHERINE   OF   RUSSIA. 


also  expressed  her  great  affliction,  but,  despite  this  fab- 
ric of  falsehoods  and  Catherine's  artful  assumption  of 
grief,  no  one  was  so  stupid  as  to  believe  what  she  as- 
serted, though  no  one  dared  say  a  word  upon  the  mat- 
ter, and  that  was  all  the  empress  wished.  The  remains 
of  Peter  were  brought  to  the  capital  and  buried  with 
great  pomp. 

Her  next  movement  was  to  send  Ivan  back  to  prison, 
and  at  the  same  time  she  gave  orders  to  put  him  to 
death,  if  any  attempt  was  made  to  deliver  him.  There 
were  many  who  sympathized  with  the  unfortunate 
prince,  fated  to  spend  a  life-time,  from  infancy  to  man- 
hood, in  dungeons  and  fortresses  where  he  was  subject- 
ed to  every  manner  Of  suffering.  Ivan  is  described  as 
having  fine  light  hair,  regular  features,  an  extremely 
fair  complexion,  a  figure  of  commanding  height  and 
fine  proportions,  and  a  voice  sweet  and  touchingly 
mournful  in  its  accents.  A  conspiracy  was  set  on  foot 
to  rescue  him  and  place  him  upon  the  throne,  headed 
by  an  officer  named  Mirovitch,  who  forced  his  way 
into  the  fortress  of  Schlusselburg  where  Ivan  was  con- 
fined, determined  to  deliver  him.  The  guards  imme- 
diately assassinated  the  defenceless  prince  and  flung 
his  body  before  Mirovitch,  who  immediately  threw 
down  his  sword  and  surrendered.  All  who  were  en- 
gaged in  this  conspiracy  were  imprisoned,  knouted,  or 
sent  to  Siberia. 

Catherine,  now  relieved  from  those  who  could  cause 
her  the  most  uneasiness,  turned  her  attention  to  meas- 
ures which  would  secure  the  applause  of  her  subjects, 
and  give,   her  the  fame  she  was   ambitious  to   gain 


CATHERINE   OF   RUSSIA.  411 


abroad.     She   no  longer  needed  the  services  of  the 
Princess  DashkofF,   who  had  become  odious  to   her, 
notwithstanding  her  sacrifices  of  family  and  of  herself 
in  the  cause  of  her  friend.     Catherine  was  not  capable 
of  friendship.     She  made  tools  of  those  whom  she  fiat 
tered  with  her  confidence.     Princess  Dashkoflf,  in  the  , 
beginning  of  the  revolution,  had  put  on  the  uniform 
of  the  guards,  and  now  asked,  as  a  recompense  for  her 
services,  the  title  of  colonel  of  a  regiment ;  to  this  the 
empress  scornfully  replied  that  "  the  academy  would 
suit  her  better  than  a  military  corps."     The  princess 
resented  her  ingratitude  and  spoke  of  it  among  her 
friends,  with  the  bold  independence  natural  to  her  ;  but 
for  such  imprudence  she  v^ras  ordered  to  retire  to  Mos- 
cow. 

The  archbishop  of  Novogorod,  who  had  also  materi- 
ally assisted  in  Catherine's  designs,  was  disappointed 
in  his  expected  reward,  and  dismissed  with  a  warning 
as  to  how  he  vented  liis  rage.  These  and  similar  oc- 
currences caused  discontent  and  irritation  among  the 
people,  which  took  so  serious  a  turn,  that  it  was  thought 
for  a  time  Catherine  would  be  hurled  from  the  throne 
she  had  usurped  ;  but  her  courage  and  presence  of 
mind  never  forsook  her.  She  inflicted  such  terrible 
punishments  upon  the  ringleaders,  as  effectually  pre- 
vented any  farther  demonstrations  of  dissatisfaction. 

Among  the  first  acts  of  her  reign  was  the  confirma- 
tion of^e  two  principal  edicts  of  her  predecessor, 
which  had  given  him  such  popularity  at  his  accession  ; 
but  she  took  good  care  to  appropriate  all  the  credit  to 
herself.     With  a  policy  that  consulted  the  low  state  of 


412  CATHERINE   OF   RUSSIA. 


the  finances,  she  also  ratified  the  treaties  that  had  been 
made  with  Denmark  and  Prussia ;  by  thus  securing 
peace,  she  was  enabled  to  turn  her  attention  to  the  im- 
provement and  aggrandizement  of  Russia.  She  insti- 
tuted many  wise  and  admirable  regulations  that  secured 
the  highest  encomiums  from  other  nations,  though  it 
is  said  she  was  undeserving  her  celebrity  as  a  law-giver, 
since  her  famous  code  "  consisted  of  a  tissue  of  para- 
graphs taken  principally  from  Montesquieu's  *  Esprit 
des  Loix,'  and  Beccaria's  treatise  on  crime  and  punish- 
ment, and  other  well-known  writers."  She  laid  claim 
to  her  code,  as  having  originated  it  herself,  and  com- 
placently received  the  adulations  of  all  Europe. 

She  certainly  deserves  credit,  however,  for  her  energy 
and  skill  in  devising  and  prosecuting  arrangements  for 
the  founding  of  colleges  and  hospitals  on  a  grand  scale, 
in  the  principal  cities  ;  for  the  establishment  of  a  found- 
ling and  lying-in  hospital,  under  the  most  benevolent 
and  salutary  regulations,  and  for  the  magnificent  semi- 
naries she  endowed  at  Petersburg,  one  for  the  educa- 
tion of  five  hundred  young  ladies,  the  other  a  military 
school  for  young  men,  both  of  which  are  still  the  pride 
of  Petersburg.  She  also  invited  foreigners  from  every 
country,  whether  professional  or  scientific  men,  arti- 
sans, mechanics,  or  common  laborers — an  invitation 
which  quickly  populated  the  deserts  of  Russia  with  a 
nost  who  loudly  murmured  their  discontent  after  they 
arrived,  and  regretted  their  foolishness  in  abandoning 
better  homes. 

All  this,  and  more,  was  accomplished  in  the  first 
year  and  a  half  of  Catherine's  reign.     She  added  to 


OATHERIXF,    OF    RTRSTA.  413 


her  own  reputation  abroad  for  sagacity  and  wisdom,  by 
assisting  at  all  the  deliberations  of  the  councils,  read 
the  despatches  from  her  ambassadors,  dictated  or  wrote 
the  answers,  and  attended  to  all  the  minutia  of  foreign 
affairs.  She  often  had  interviews  with  Munich,  wiio 
suggested  to  her  the  plan  of  driving  the  Turks  from 
Constantinople,  and  with  Bestucheff,  a  man  of  pro- 
found policy,  who  h.id  the  experience  of  grand  chan- 
cellor in  Elizabeth's  reign,  and  wlio  kept  Catherine  in- 
formed of  the  politics  and  resources  of  the  European 
courts.  In  her  interviews  with  foreign  ministers,  she 
assured  them  of  her  independence  and  courage,  told 
them  the  world  must  not  judge  of  her  yet,  that  she 
had  scarcely  begun  her  reign  and  would  surprise 
Europe  in  time  with  her  great  exploits,  and  assured 
them  she  "  should  behave  with  the  princes  of  other  na- 
tions like  a  finished  coquette." 

But  in  the  midst  of  all  her  occupations,  the  empress 
did  not  forget  her  old  favorites  or  neglect  to  find  new 
ones.  In  this  she  imitated  the  profligate  example  of 
Elizabeth.  Gregory  Orloff,  brothei'  of  Alexey,  she 
seemed  to  entertain  a  sincere  affection  for,  although  he 
did  not  unite  polished  manners  with  beauty  of  person. 
He  was  ambitious  and  hoped  the  empress  would  give 
him  her  hand,  and  thus  elevate  him  to  the  dignity  of  a 
sovereign.  Catherine  would  only  consent  to  a  concealed 
marriage,  but  that  was  not  sufiicient  for  the  haughty, 
but  low-born  Gregory.  Fearful  she  would  degrade  her 
rank  by  marrying  a  man  whom  every  one  detested,  her 
turbulent  subjects  concocted  new  conspiracies.  While 
on  a  visit  to  Moscow,  Catherine  discovered  one  of  these 


414  CATHERIxNTE    OF    RUSSIA. 


plots,  and  alarmed  for  her  safety  returned  immediately 
to  Petersburg,  entering  that  city  with  a  pompous  and 
magnificent  display,  which  she  intended  should  awe 
the  disaffected. 

She  believed  that  the  Princess  Dashkoflf  influenced 
some  of  these  intrigues,  and  determined  to  conceal  the 
dislike  she  bore  her,  and  invited  her  to  court  again. 
She  wrote  a  flattering  and  deceitful  letter,  asking  hei 
knowledge  of  the  conspiracies,  which  was  not  calcu 
lated  however  to  blind  the  quick-witted  princess,  who 
had  too  much  occasion  to  know  Catherine's  artfulness, 
to  trust  her  words.  To  the  long  and  affectionate  letter 
of  the  empress,  the  wounded  friend  replied  with  daring 
haughtiness,  in  a  few  words.  "  Madam,"  wrote  she, 
"  I  have  heard  nothing  ;  but  if  I  had  heard  anything, 
I  should  take  good  care  how  I  spoke  of  it.  What  is 
it  you  require  of  me  ?  That  I  should  expire  on  a  scaf- 
fold ?  I  am  ready  to  mount  it !"  Catherine  was  cha- 
grined at  this  display  of  spirit,  but  did  not  take  revenge 
and  left  the  princess  in  disgrace,  to  travel  about  Europe ; 
she  everywhere  attracted  attention  by  her  singular  and 
bold  manners.  After  her  anger  towards  the  empress 
had  subsided,  she  returned  to  Russia,  and  Catherine, 
thinking  it  best  to  conciliate  one  so  cognizant  of  her 
crimes,  appointed  her  president  of  the  academy.  Here 
she  presided  with  the  whims  and  temper  of  a  virago, 
deprived  the  professors  of  fuel  in  \\;..ter,  from  avari- 
cious motives,  and  commanded  them  as  she  would  have 
done  a  regiment  of  soldiers.  Wrapped  in  rich  fui's, 
she  seated  herself  in  the  midst  of  the  shivering  pro- 
fessors, dictating  to  them  what  they  knew  better  than 


CATHKKINE    OF    KUSSIA.  415 


she,  till  they  were  tempted  to  abandon  the  country 
where  the  empress  was  content  to  have  but  the  shell 
of  science  and  literature,  without  the  kernel. 

Renown  was  Catherine's  sole  aim.  For  that  she  con 
tmued  to  endow  colleges  and  academies  of  science  and 
art,  which  often  proceeded  no  further  than  the  selection 
of  a  site,  or,  if  they  were  built,  rarely  afforded  anything 
besides  opportunities  for  grand  and  bombastic  speeches 
from  the  empress.  She  encouraged  the  arts,  inviting 
artists  to  her  court,  and  paid  most  extravagant  prices 
for  pictures,  though  without  the  least  taste  to  judge  of 
their  merits  or  defects.  Her  end  was  accomplished, 
however,  so  long  as  the  recipients  of  her  generous  en- 
couragement sounded  her  fame.  Many  of  the  pictures 
decorated  the  walls  of  her  palaces,  being  "  fitted  together 
without  frames,  so  as  to  cover  on  each  side  the  whole  of 
the  walls,  without  the  smallest  attention  to  disposition 
or  general  effect."  When  a  place  could  not  convenient- 
ly be  filled,  the  pictures  were  cut  to  suit  the  vacancy  ! 

Catherine  prided  herself  upon  the  generosity  of  her 
gifts  to  those  who  visited  her  court,  and  to  those  who 
performed  important  services.  She  maintained  a  mag- 
nificence in  her  movements  and  decorations,  that  ex- 
ceeded all  the  courts  of  Europe,  and  added  to  the  glory 
of  her  achievements  by  founding  cities  as  well  as  col- 
leges, which  those  who  visited  her  vainly  looked  for ! 
Many  of  them  were  never  to  be  found,  for  the  very 
good  reason  that  she  was  satisfied  to  designate  a  site, 
give  a  name,  and  see  it  swell  the  list  of  her  boasted 
cities,  though  it  after  all  existed  only  in  her  imagina- 
tion.     Joseph   II.  once   accompanied  her  to  lay  the 


416  CATHERINE   OF   RUSSIA. 


founaations  of  a  new  city.  On  his  return  he  dryly  re- 
marked, "The  empress  and  I  have  this  day  achieved 
a  great  work ;  she  has  laid  the  first  stone  of  a  great 
city,  and  I  have  laid  the  lastP''  He  was  just  in  his 
surmise.  The  city  can  nowhere  be  found  except  upon 
some  of  the  maps  of  E,ussia. 

While  thus  engaged  at  home,  she  did  not  neglect  to 
increase  her  power  abroad.  Poland,  for  many  years, 
had  gradually  extended  its  possessions  by  the  inter 
marriage  of  Polish  princesses  with  the  heirs  of  royal 
domains  in  Russia.  Catherine,  therefore,  in  a  measure 
ruled  the  election  of  kings  in  that  republic.  Upon  the 
death  of  Agustus  III.  she  contrived,  partly  by  the 
force  of  arms  and  partly  by  cunning  policy,  to  secure 
the  election  of  one  of  her  old  favorites.  Count  Ponia- 
sofsky,  a  man  who  is  described  as  having  but  small  ca- 
pacity to  govern,  rather  weak  than  gentle,  possessing 
a  mind  that  was  better  calculated  to  shine  in  social 
intercourse  than  to  sway  men  of  cultivation.  "  Tall, 
well-made,  of  a  figure  at  once  commanding  and  agree- 
able," he  could  more  skilfully  play  the  lover  than  the 
courtier.  He  was  rather  forced  upon  than  accepted 
by  the  Poles,  who  loudly  murmured  at  the  accession 
of  one  who  was  neither  distinguished  by  birth  nor  any 
brilliant  achievements.  Soon  after  his  election,  diffi- 
culties commenced  in  Poland,  which,  by  causing  innu- 
merable divisions  of  parties,  weakened  and  exposed  it 
to  the  rapacious  robbery  of  Russia  and  Prussia. 

In  1563  a  law  had  been  passed  which  granted  equal 
rights  to  all  religious  persuasions,  whether  Greek,  Lii 
theran,  or  Catholic.     In  1763,  however,  the  Catholics 


CATHERINE   OF    RUSSIA.  417 


had  obtained  a  decided  superiority,  and  excluded  from 
the  diets  all  those  who  did  not  adopt  their  faith.  This 
occasioned  serious  contention ;  the  various  parties  re- 
ceived the  name  of  dissidents,  and  applied  to  Russia 
for  assistance  in  claiming  their  rights,  Catherine  sent 
an  army  under  the  command  of  Prince  Repuin,  who 
immediately  seized  the  principal  persons  in  the  diet, 
and  exiled  them  to  Siberia.  The  king  himself,  through 
the  instigation  of  OrlofF,  was  treated  with  great  indig- 
nity. Prince  Repuin  commanded  like  a  despot  in 
Warsaw,  and  the  Poles  began  to  be  amazed  at  the  dan- 
gerous assistance  they  had  sought,  and  beheld  their 
country  overrun  with  Russian  soldiery,  from  whom 
they  had  no  power  to  extricate  themselves.  They 
could  only  submit  to  the  terms  the  empress  chose  to 
grant  them.  She  already  proposed  the  recovery  of 
those  parts  of  Poland  which  had  been  annexed  from 
Russia  ;  but  her  plans  were  not  yet  fully  formed  ;  she 
contented  herself  for  a  few  years  to  use  her  domineer- 
ing influence  over  a  nation  that  she  was  in  honor  bound 
to  protect  and  not  to  oppress. 

In  1768  Turkey  declared  war  against  Russia  in  con- 
sequence of  the  oppression  of  Poland.  The  latter,  suf- 
fering all  the  horrors  of  a  war  partly  civil,  partly  reli- 
gious, and  partly  foreign,  and  its  haughty,  brave  no 
bles,  unwilling  to  brook  the  outrages  of  Russia,  ap- 
plied to  Turkey  for  relief.  Catherine,  with  undaunted 
courage,  accepted  the  challenge,  prepared  an  army  and 
powerful  fleets,  and  speedily  sent  them  against  her  en- 
emies. "While  they  gained  victories  along- the  Danube, 
the  Pruth,  and  sailed  triumphant  on  the  Euxine,  Cath 


27 


418  CATHERINE   OF    RUSSIA. 


erine  was  occupied  at  home  in  vast  preparations  to  at- 
tack them  even  in  the  isles  of  Greece.  Her  dock-yards 
were  filled  with  workmen  who  busily  constructed  ships 
of  war;  her  cities  resounded  with  the  clang  of  metal, 
moulded  and  shaped  into  death-dealing  weapons,  by 
the  hands  of  skilful  artisans ;  her  politicians  were  en- 
gaged in  exciting  debates  as  to  the  expediency  of  the 
undertaking:  her  foreign  ministers  and  emissaries  were 
directed  to  secure  the  non-interference  of  other  nations, 
and  permission  to  enter  their  ports.  Her  fleets  were 
manned  not  only  by  the  most  experienced  ofl&cers  of 
her  own  empire,  but  notable  Englishmen,  Danes,  and 
Dutch,  were  enlisted  in  her  service.  Admiral  Spiridoflf 
commanded  the  fleet,  but  he  and  all  the  armies  were 
under  the  orders  of  Alexey  Orlofi",  who  had  been  ap- 
pointed general. 

While  these  fleets  and  armies  were  sweeping  victo- 
riously through  the  Archipelago,  and  harassing  the 
borders  of  the  Turkish  empire,  Catherine,  always  in- 
dustrious in  intrigues,  kept  up  a  secret  correspondence 
with  Frederic  of  Prussia,  pertaining  to  Poland.  They 
meditated  the  partition  of  that  nation ;  an  interview, 
however,  was  necessary  to  perfect  the  design.  Unwil- 
ling that  other  monarchs  should  discover  their  infamous 
intentions,  and  knowing  their  motives  could  not  be 
concealed  if  an  ostentatious  visit  was  made  by  either 
party,  they  decided  to  resort  to  stratagem.  Prince 
Henry,  the  brother  of  Frederic,  received  instructions 
to  go  to  Eussia  with  full  powers  to  concert  the  desired 
measures  with  the  empress.  It  was  given  out  that  he 
intended  making  a  visit  to  his  sister,  Queen  of  Sweden, 


CATHERINE   OF   RUSSIA.  419 


and  should  return  to  Prussia  by  way  of  Denmark. 
While  at  Stockholm  he  received  pressing  invitations 
from  Catherine  to  visit  her  at  Petersburg,  in  which  she 
expressed  her  anxiety  to  entertain  so  illustrious  a 
prince.  As  if  it  had  not  all  been  managed  beforehand, 
Henry  expressed  unexpected  pleasure,  and,  with  an 
apparent  change  of  his  plans,  set  out  for  Petersburg, 
accompanied  by  a  brilliant  suite.  He  was  received 
with  flattering  attentions  by  the  minister.  Count  Panin, 
and  conducted  in  great  state  to  the  palace  prepared  for 
him.  The  first  day  of  his  arrival  was  passed  with  the 
most  ceremonious  etiquette,  after  which  a  series  of  en- 
tertainments were  given  that  in  magnificence  outdid  all 
the  courts  of  Europe. 

One  of  these  entertainments  was  given  at  the  sum- 
mer-palace called  Tzarskoselo.  It  was  situated  at  a 
distance  of  twenty  four  versts,  or  sixteen  miles,  from 
Petersburg,  in  an  open  country,  diversified  with  low, 
picturesque  hills  and  forests.  The  road  to  it  was  light- 
ed by  more  than  a  thousand  lamps,  and  every  verst 
marked  by  a  column  of  marble,  jaspar,  or  granite.  All 
along  there  were  views  of  elegant  country-seats  and 
gardens,  gothic  palaces  with  their  lofty  towers  and 
turrets,  Chinese  temples  crested  upon  high  artificial 
rocks,  villages  built  in  the  same  style,  fanciful  bridges, 
and  every  other  device  by  which  the  route  could  be 
made  attractive  and  enchanting.  The  palace  itself  was 
immense  and  dazzling  ;  within  and  without  were  pro- 
fuse gilded  ornaments.  Every  portion  of  the  interior 
was  fitted  up  in  the  richest  and  costliest  style.  The 
extensive  gardens  were  ornamented  bv  artificial  lake? 


420  CATHERINE   OF   RUSSIA. 


dotted  with  charming  wooded  islands,  from  one  of 
which  rose  a  Turkish  mosque,  from  another  an  elegant 
structure  for  musical  performances,  while  from  others 
shot  up  tall  columns  or  Egyptian  pyramids.  Minia 
ure  towns  and  villages,  a  hermitage,  superb  baths,  and 
picturesque  ruins,  completed  this  luxurious  resort,  that, 
springing  up  in  the  midst  of  the  bleak  deserts  of  Rus- 
sia, was  the  realization  of  a  Titania's  kingdom. 

To  this  magnificent  and  showy  palace,  the  empress 
conducted  Prince  Henry  in  an  immense  sledge,  fol- 
lowed by  two  thousand  others  containing  a  great  num 
ber  of  ladies  and  the  nobility,  all  in  masks  and  fancv 
dresses.     The  amusements  along  the  road  consisted  o/ 
some   novel  display  at   every  verst.      Fire-works   in 
every  possible  variety  and  unimagined  beauty,  houses 
built  to  represent  the  style  of  different  nations  and  en- 
livened with  people  dressed  in  corresponding  costumes, 
shepherds  and  shepherdesses  exhibiting  national  dan 
ces,  and,  at  a  little  distance  from  the  palace,  an  arti 
ficial  volcano  representing  an  eruption  of  Mount  Vesu 
vius.     The  festivities  at  the  palace  were  equally  inge 
nious  and  startling.     At  table  everything  was  arranged 
with  such  magician-like  effect  that  when  one  wished 
to  change  his  plate,  he  had  but  to  tap  the  centre  and 
it  fell  through  the  table  and  floor,  and  was  immediately 
replaced  by  another  that  came  up  by  the  same  means, 
replenished  with  whatever  he  desired. 

By  such  displays  Catherine  sought  to  amuse  her 
royal  guest,  and  blind  her  subjects  and  the  world  at 
large,  as  to  the  secret  purpose  which  all  this  show  suc- 
cessfully masked.    Henry  looked  on  without  appearing 


CATHERINE   OF   RUSSIA.  421 


to  be  in  the  least  diverted ;  he  maintained  a  sober  and 
dignified  bearing,  looking  on  the  frivolous  and  expen- 
sive sports  as  ijiere^ihild's  play,  but  covered  his  disdain 
under  an  air  of  abstracted  indifference.  His  dress 
and  appearance  occasioned  infinite  amusement  to  the 
Russians.  His  hair  was  worn  in  a  high  toupde,  and 
his  apparel  sometimes  consisted  of  "a  light  blue  frock 
with  silver  frogs,  a  red  waistcoat  and  blue  breeches." 

In  his  interviews  with  Catherine,  their  disguised  in- 
tentions were  cautiously  discussed.  They  decided 
upon  the  dismemberment  of  Poland,  and  Henry  went 
so  far  as  to  assign  to  Austria,  Turkey,  Prussia  and 
Russia,  the  spoils  which  should  fall  to  the  share  of 
each.  Catherine  promised  to  frighten  Turkey  and  flat- 
ter England  into  acquiescence  ;  said  she,  "  Do  you  take 
upon  vou  to  buy  over  Austria,  that  she  may  amuse 
France  1"  Thus  did  this  unscrupulous  monarch  devise 
and  carry  out  a  robbery,  with  as  hypocritical  and  in- 
nocent a  face  as  had  carried  her  through  the  connived 
assassination  of  her  husband.  The  treaty,  however, 
was  not  signed  for  some  years. 

Soon  after  Henry's  departure  early  in  1771,  Count 
Alexey  Orloff  returned  from  his  victories,  laden  with 
triumphant  laurels  which  fixed  upon  him  the  eyes  of 
all  Russia.  He  received  honors  and  titles  from  his 
sovereign,  and,  in  the  succeeding  festivities,  resigned 
his  giant  strength  to  the  ease  and  repose  of  courtly 
luxury.  His  ferocity,  cruelty,  and  coarseness  of  man- 
ner, were  better  fitted  for  the  horrors  of  war  than  the 
refinement  and  etiquette  of  court ;  his  huge  arm  knew 
better  how  to  strike  the  assassin's  deadly  blow,  than  u* 


422  CATHERINE   OF   RUSSIA. 


shield  the  unfortunate ;  his  soul  was  in  its  most  grate- 
ful element  when  revelling  in  the  consciousness  of  a 
victini's  torment. 

At  his  request,  Catherine  provided  him  with  ample 
means  to  prosecute  his  conquests  in  the  Archipelago. 
He  left  Petersburg,  loaded  with  assurances  of  the  favor 
of  the  empress,  and  went  to  join  the  squadron  prepared 
for  him  at  Leghorn.  While  in  Italy,  he  executed  a 
commission  from  the  empress  requiring  two  pictures 
to  be  painted  in  representation  of  the  burning  of  the 
Turkish  fleet  in  the  previous  expedition.  Orlofif  did 
n-  t  hesitate  to  have  a  score  of  ships  in  the  harbor 
set  on  fire  or  blown  up,  in  order  that  the  painter  might 
do  justice  to  his  subject.  He  had  another  commission 
from  Catherine  which  he  performed  with  equal  vil- 
lainy. She  had  reason  to  fear  the  entire  downfall  of 
her  throne  as  long  as  any  descendants  of  Peter  the  Great 
existed  :  one  remained  upon  whom  her  eye  was  fixed  ; 
with  her  usual  secrecy  and  false-heartedness  she  laid  a 
snare  for  the  fair  and  unsuspecting  girl  whose  shadow 
was  a  hateful  ghost  in  the  pathway  of  the  guilty  empress. 

The  empress  Elizabeth,  by  a  clandestine  marriage 
with  Kazumofisky,  had  three  children  ;  the  youngest  a 
girl  named  princess  Tarrakanoflf  and  protected  by  the 
Polish  Prince  Radzivil.  He  conveyed  her  to  Rome, 
where  she  had  been  educated  and  kept  in  seclusion 
under  the  care  of  a  watchful  governess.  Alexey  OrlofP 
succeeded  in  ferreting  out  her  concealment,  and,  by  the 
most  devoted  attention  and  deceitful  representations, 
won  the  affections  of  the  princess  and  obtained  her  con- 
sent to  a  marriage.     The  ceremony  was  performed  bv 


CATHERINE   OF   KUSSIA.  423 


villains  in  tli(i  disguise  of  priests.  The  innocent  and 
confiding  Tarrakanoff,  believing  him  to  be  her  veri- 
table husband,  accompanied  him  to  Pisa,  where  a 
sumptuous  palace  was  prepared  for  her  reception.  He 
was  constantly  at  her  side,  in  order  to  prevent  any  om 
from  instilling  suspicion  into  her  mind.  She  accepted 
his  attentions  as  proof  of  his  affection,  and  returned  it 
with  a  fond  tenderness  that,  with  her  youth  and  beauty, 
would  have  swerved  any  heart  but  his  from  its  cruel 
purpose.  Several  days  passed  in  festivities,  when  the 
princess  asked  to  see  the  Russian  fleet  that  was  soon 
to  convey  away  the  count.  He  was  delighted  to 
gratify  her,  and  accordingly  she  was  escorted  to  a  boat 
prepared  with  magnificent  awnings  to  receive  her,  and, 
accompanied  by  a  suite  of  ladies  and  several  Russian 
officers,  put  off  from  the  shore  in  the  midst  of  enthu- 
siastic shouts  and  lively  strains  of  music.  AiTived  at 
one  of  the  principal  ships,  a  splendid  chair  was  lowered 
that  she  might  without  inconvenience  be  conveyed  on 
board.  Amused  with  the  novelty,  she  stept  gaily  on 
deck,  but  was  immediately  seized  and  handcuffed ;  tears 
and  entreaties  were  unavailing  ;  in  vain  she  supplicated 
at  the  feet  of  her  betrayer;  she  was  torn  away  and 
carried  a  prisoner  down  into  the  hold,  and  the  follow- 
ing day  conveyed  to  Russia.  Catherine  gave  secret 
orders  to  confine  her  in  the  fortress  of  Petersburg,  and 
it  was  afterwards  surmised  that  she  was  drowned  in 
her  dungeon  by  the  rising  of  the  waters  of  the  river 
that  rolled  at  the  foot  of  the  tower  walls  ;  but  her  fate 
remained  one  of  the  whispered  mysteries  of  the  Russiaa 
court. 


424  CATHERINE   OF   RtJSSlA. 


In  1771  an  event  occurred  which  took  the  Russians 
by  surprise,  and  cast  an  odium  upon  Catherine's  admin- 
istration that  nothing  could  efface.  The  inhabitants 
of  a  province  lying  on  the  Volga,  north  of  Astracan, 
were  driven  to  desperation  by  the  cruelty  and  injustice 
of  the  governor  placed  over  them.  They  were  a  peace' 
ful,  hospitable  people,  originally  from  Chinese  Tartary, 
and  until  within  a  few  years  had  preserved  their  inde- 
pendence. Their  religion  and  customs  continued  un- 
changed ;  they  roamed  about  the  steppes  with  their 
usual  aversion  to  permanent  dwellings,  and  also  from 
the  necessity  of  furnishing  herbage  for  their  hordes  of 
cattle.  Much  oppression  from  the  emissaries  of  the 
empress  and  an  unheard-of  indignity  offered  to  a  ven- 
erable old  man,  greatly  beloved  by  his  tribe,  so  in- 
censed them  that  they  resolved  to  abandon  the  Rus- 
sian dominions  and  return  to  their  ancient  possessions 
at  the  foot  of  the  mountains  of  Thibet.  A  report  was 
also  circulated  among  them  that  a  revered  Calmuck 
priest,  who  died  three  years  before,  had  sent  them  a 
message  in  the  name  of  their  gods  to  take  possession 
of  their  ancient  territories.  They  obeyed,  and  in  a  well- 
ordered  march  went  secretly  and  silently  on  their  peril- 
ous journey, — an  immense  troop,  with  their  wives, 
children  and  servants,  hordes  of  cattle,  goods  of  every 
description,  tents,  and  household  utensils. 

So  noiseless  had  been  their  departure  that  no  inti- 
mation of  it  whatever  reached  Petersburg,  till  they 
had  gained  two  days'  march.  Catherine  immediately 
sent  troops  to  arrest  the  fugitives,  but  they  searched  in 
vain   through    the   bleak  deserts,   till,  suffering  fn-xi 


CATHERINE   OF   RUSSIA,  425 


thirst  and  iiunger  in  these  unwatered,  barren,  and  de- 
populated regions,  they  were  obliged  to  abandon  the 
unavailing  pursuit.  The  Chinese  emperor  received 
and  protected  "  his  children,"  and  when  the  exasper 
ated  empress  demanded  him  to  deliver  up  her  run- 
away subjects,  he  scornfully  refused  to  comply  and 
daringly  commented  on  her  tyranny.  This  Catherine 
never  could  forgive.  She  was  used  to  conciliatory 
language  from  all  the  nations  of  Europe,  and  this  bold 
defiance,  and  the  dictatorial  tone  he  used  on  several 
occasions,  inspired  her  with  a  hatred  that  would  not 
permit  China  to  be  favorably  mentioned  in  her  pres- 
ence. Upon  her  application  for  a  renewal  of  the  treaty 
regarding  commerce  between  the  two  nations,  he  pro- 
vokingly  replied  to  her  envoys,  "Let  your  mistress 
learn  to  keep  old  treaties,  and  then  it  will  be  time 
enough  to  apply  for  new  ones  !"  Catherine  c  ^uld  only 
dissemble  her  mortification  and  anger  ;  she  h-id  not  the 
means  to  punish  him  for  his  audacit}^,  whatever  were 
her  inclinations.  The  war  with  Turkey,  her  policy  in 
regard  to  Poland,  and  the  equipment  of  extensive  fleets, 
had  exhausted  her  treasury.  Peace  however  was  de- 
clared, in  1774:,  which  ceded  to  Catherine  several  prov- 
inces, and  gave  her  vessels  the  free  navigation  of  the 
Black  Sea  and  the  Archipelago ;  this  opened  an  im- 
mense source  of  commerce  and  wealth  to  her  empire 
Marshol  Eomantzofif,  her  greatest  general,  received  the 
glory  of  the  triumphs  on  the  borders  of  Turkey,  and 
Alexey  Orloff  was  showered  with  honors  for  his  victo- 
ries in  the  Archipelago,  though  the  credit  given  the 


426  CATHERINE   OF    RUSSIA. 


latter  was  eotirely  due  to  the  skill  of  the  English  admi- 
rals, Elphinstone,  Greig,  and  Dugdale. 

While  all  these  events  were  progressing,  Catherine 
was  employed  at  home  in  improving  and  enriching  her 
•ities  and  public  works.  Canals,  connecting  the  several 
rivers  in  and  near  Petersburg,  were  embanked  witb 
granite  ;  sumptuous  bridges  were  thrown  across  them  ; 
magnificent  palaces  were  built  and  public  offices  sprang 
up  without  number,  while  close  beside  them  were 
squalid  hovels  with  the  most  wretched  occupants,  and 
in  front  ran  streets  filled  with  mire  and  dirt. 

Catherine,  in  her  palace,  was  the  same  intriguing, 
deceitful  woman  she  had  been  in  the  beginning  of  her 
reign.  Profligate,  fitful  and  tyrannical,  she  changed 
her  favorites  as  readily  as  her  mask,  lavishing  the  most 
costly  gifts  upon  them  at  one  moment,  and  the  next 
moment  sending  them  into  exile.  She  seemed  to  re- 
tain an  affection  for  Gregory  Orloff ;  she  created  him 
a  prince,  but  Count  Panin,  her  minister  and  governor 
of  the  grand  duke  Paul  Petrovitch,  constantly  employ- 
ed his  influence  against  the  complete  ascendency  of 
Orloff.  Count  Panin  occupied  the  most  important 
posts  in  the  empire,  and  continued  to  retain  them  until 
his  death  ;  his  prosperity  was  probably  owing  more  to 
Catherine's  reliance  upon  his  integrity  than  any  bril- 
liant talents  she  could  have  imagined  him  to  possess. 
The  admission  of  a  new  favorite,  Potemkin,  who  gain- 
ed complete  rule  over  Catherine,  drove  both  Panin 
and  Orloff  to  despair.  Count  Panin  absented  himself 
from  court,  and,  it  is  said,  died  from  chagrin  and  grief 
at  the  loss  of  his  influence.     Gregory  Orloff  died  in  the 


CATHERINE    OF   RUSSIA.  427 


aame  year,  1783,  at  Moscow,  in  a  state  of  frightful  in- 
sanit}  .  Tlie  loss  of  a  young  and  beautiful  wife,  whom  ^ 
he  regarded  with  the  tenderest  love,  occasioned  a  mel- 
uncholy  that  was  deeply  aggravated  by  the  loss  of  the 
empress'  favor.  His  last  days  were  spent  in  the  rav- 
ings of  delirium  ;  he  imagined  that  the  ghost  of  Peter 
III.  was  continually  pursuing  him  with  avenging 
darts. 

Thus  Catherine  was  relieved  from  the  presence  of 
two  men  who  had  assisted  in  elevating  her  to  the 
throne,  and  whose  dangerous  possession  of  her  secrets 
gave  them  a  fearful  hold  upon  her  that  she  was  glad  to 
shake  off.  Paul  Petrovitch  was  Panin's  most  sincere 
mourner ;  he  really  loved  his  preceptor,  and  with  the 
greater  strength  because  his  affections  were  driven  from 
every  object  upon  which  he  would  have  centered  them, 
by  his  tyrannical  mother.  She  kept  him  under  con- 
tinual surveillance,  and  concealed  him  from  the  public 
eye  as  completely  as  possible,  fearful  of  the  affection 
entertained  for  him  by  the  people,  and  dreading  a  rev- 
olution which  might  place  him  upon  his  rightful  throne. 
Although  arrived  at  manhood,  he  was  never  allowed 
to  enter  the  army,  or  even  to  visit  a  fleet ;  his  travels 
were  limited,  his  movements  closely  watched  and 
strictly  reported,  and  Catherine  always  provided  hiua 
with  an  escort  of  her  own  choosing.  She  condescended 
to  select  liim  a  wife,  but  took  good  care  to  find  one 
who  would  be  too  simple  to  engage  in  intrigues.  He 
was  married  to  a  daughter  of  the  landgrave  of  Hesse- 
Darmstadt  ;  as  was  the  custom,  she  adopted  the  Greek 
rehgion,  a  id  received  the  name  of  Natalia  Alexierua. 


428  CATHERINE    OP   RUSSIA. 


The  empress  had  reason  afterwards  to  suspect  her  of 
engaging  ia  political  plots,  and  her  death,  which  occur- 
red a  year  or  two  after  she  became  grand  duchess,  cast 
another  dark  imputation  upon  Catlierine. 

She  was  scarcely  cold  in  her  grave,  before  the  em- 
press selected  a  new  spouse  for  her  son.  A  niece  of 
the  King  of  Prussia  became  the  consort  of  the  grand 
duke,  under  the  name  of  Maria  Feodorovna,  and  with 
him  ascended  the  throne  twenty  years  afterwards.  As 
the  kings  and  princes  of  various  nations  had  succes- 
sively visited  the  court  of  Petersburg,  Catherine 
thought  she  could  no  longer  deny  a  return  of  these 
distinctions,  in  permitting  the  grand  duke  and  his  bride 
to  visit  some  of  the  courts  of  Europe.  She  confided 
them  to  the  care  of  one  of  her  sworn  creatures,  and 
had  despatches  daily  brought  her  by  a  courier,  giving 
A  minute  account  of  everything  that  transpired.  While 
at  Paris,  the  people  were  more  struck  with  Paul's  ex- 
cessive ugliness  than  anything  else.  One  day  at  the 
Tuilleries,  Louis  XVI.  asked  him  if  he  had  any  person 
in  his  suite  who  was  particularly  attached  to  him  ? 
Paul  replied  with  a  significance  which  was  understood 
by  the  courtiers,  "If  my  mother  thought  that  I  had  but 
a  dog  belonging  to  me  that  loved  me,  to-morrow  it 
would  be  flung  into  the  Seine  with  a  stone  around  its 
neck."  He  was  just  feeling  the  bitterness  of  having  a 
friend  exiled  to  Siberia  for  life,  for  the  offence  of 
writing  to  him  an  account  of  the  transactions  at  Peters- 
burg during  his  absence.  It  was  truly  a  magnanimous 
trait  in  Catherine  that  she  permitted  her  son  to  exis< 
at  all! 


CATHERESTE   OF   RUSSIA.  429 


Orloff  and  Panin  were  entirely  forgotten  in  the  bril- 
liant reign  of  the  favorite  who  had  supplanted  them. 
Potexnkiu  was  a  most  extraordinary  man,  and  it  was 
his  caprices,  his  intense  imagination  that  was  forever 
devising  some  unheard-of  scheme,  and  his  audacity 
that  secured  the  ascendency  he  obtained  over  Cathe- 
rine as  her  favorite,  her  confidant,  and  her  minister. 
The  most  opposite  qualities  were  united  in  him.  At ' 
one  moment  he  was  generous,  at  another  avaricious. 
Active  yet  indolent,  timid  and  bold,  condescending 
and  haughty,  jjolitic  and  indiscreet,  unread  yet  able  tc 
astonish  a  scholar,  an  artist,  artisan,  or  divine  in  con- 
versation, promising  everything  but  rarely  performing, 
always  chasing  after  some  gigantic  plan  which  he 
spurned  in  disgust  when  attained — altogether  he  was  a 
fi-eak  of  nature,  and  embodied  all  the  good  and  bad 
qualities  of  man  without  reason  or  conscience  to  guide 
him.  At  one  moment  he  announced  his  intention  of 
becoming  King  of  Poland,  and,  at  the  next,  threatened 
to  turn  monk ;  one  day  he  would  call  all  the  principal 
officers  to  his  presence,  and  talk  of  war;  the  next,  be- 
gin a  series  of  magnificent  entertainments  without  the 
least  cause.  He  would  throw  all  the  cabinets  of  Eu- 
rope in  a  ferment  by  his  purpose  of  partitioning  some 
empire,  and  laugh  at  them  at  his  leisure,  while  indo- 
lently reclining  among  a  company  of  ladies.  Distin 
guished  ofiicers  attended  him  in  the  capacity  of  ser- 
vants, and  he  would  not  hesitate  to  despatch  one  of 
them  more  than  a  thousand  miles  for  a  certain  kind  of 
soup  that  could  only  be  made  at  Petersburg.  Think 
c>f  au  officer  riding  thirteen  hundred  miles  at  the  speed 


480  CATHERINE   OF   RUSSIA. 


of  life  and  death,  to  bear  a  tureen  of  soup  to  his  mas- 
ter !  It  was  these  imperious  whims,  his  energetic  will, 
and  defiance  of  every  obstruction  to  what  he  took  it  in 
his  head  to  accomplish,  that  secured  Catherine's  favor. 
She  trusted  her  armies  to  his  generalship ;  but  her  his- 
torian significantly  suggests,  "  it  is  not  to  be  inferred 
from  thence  that  all  went  on  well,  but  all  went  on  and 
the  empress  desired  nothing  more." 

It  was  in  compliance  with  his  persuasions  that  Cathe- 
rine was  induced  to  visit  Crimea  and  the  other  provinces 
that  had  been  ceded  to  Eussia  in  the  treaty  with  the 
Turkish  emperor.  In  the  beginning  of  1787,  she  left 
Petersburg  in  grand  state,  accompanied  by  all  the  ladies 
of  her  suite,  her  favorite  aid-de-camp,  Momonoff,  the 
French  and  Austrian  ambassadors,  all  enveloped  in 
costly  furs,  and  seated  in  spacious  sledges,  by  which 
they  were  conveyed  with  lightning  rapidity  over  the 
ice  and  snow.  Immense  fires,  kindled  along  the  roads, 
created  artificial  day  ;  at  every  post  was  an  ample  relay 
of  fresh  horses ;  and  when  requiring  repose  they 
sto])ped  at  palaces,  built  for  the  occasion,  which 
equalled  those  at  Petersburg  in  splendor.  Ilere  the 
(.inpress  held  entertainments  and  feasted  her  flatterers, 
Avhile,  without,  poor  peasants  were  assembled  to  gaze 
in  silent  wonder  upon  the  magic  structure,  shivering 
and  pinched  in  the  icy  air,  the  white  frost  covering 
their  shaggy  heads  and  unshaven  beards. 

Joseph  II.  of  Austria  joined  the  stately  cavalcade; 
at  Kaniefif,  Stanislaus  Agustus,  King  of  Poland,  and 
distinguished  Polish  nobles,  swelled  the  royal  train. 
Catherine  had  not  met  her  old  lover  for  twenty-three 


CATHRRINE    OF    RUSSIA.  431 


years,  and  for  once  her  imperturbable  countenance  be- 
trayed agitation.  Poniatoffsky,  however,  retained  his 
composure  and  did  homage  to  the  empress  for  the  crown 
she  had  bestowed  upon  liim,  with  as  httle  emotion  as 
if  they  had  been  strangers.  This  royal  cortege  sailed  down 
the  Dnieper  in  a  fleet  of  fifty  galleys.  Potemkin  had 
spared  no  expense  and  no  device  by  which  to  astonish 
and  impress  the  beholders  with  the  state  of  the  countries 
through  which  they  passed.  He  dressed  up  shepherds 
and  shepherdesses  to  attend  choice  flocks  along  the 
banks  of  the  river;  palaces  and  whole  villages  were 
erected  to  give  life  to  the  scenery  ;  peasants  were  hand- 
somely attired  ;  troops  were  newly  equipped ;  Tartars 
were  clothed  and  disciplined ;  wildernesses  were  con- 
verted into  blooming  gardens — everything,  that  human 
ingenuity  could  invent,  had  been  gathered  here  to  make 
the  sterile  deserts  and  the  wide  tracts  that  had  been 
laid  waste  in  the  rapacious  wars,  assume  the  appearance 
of  populous,  thriving  provinces.  The  people  furnished 
with  holiday  dresses,  and  engaged  with  music  and 
dancing,  were  made  to  appear  gay,  happy,  and  con- 
tented, while  those  very  regions  were  desolate  and 
groaning  with  famine  and  oi)pressioii.  It  was  an  ai)t 
Illustration  of  her  whole  reign — a  dazzling  display 
which  she  flattered  herself  would  blind  posterity  to  her 
hideous  defects — empty  and  heartless  like  everything 
that  emanated  from  her  or  her  minions. 

Six  months  were  occupied  in  this  unexampled  tour, 
which  resulted  in  nothing  but  a  renewal  of  the  war 
with  the  Turks.  Hostilities  commenced  near  the  close 
of  the  same  vear,  1787,  and  were  encouraged  by  Prince 


432  CATHERINE    OF   RUSSIA. 


Potemkin,  who,  though  he  seemed  to  have  every  pos- 
sible desire  granted,  lacked  one  thing  more  to  give  him 
the  happiness  he  was  always  in  pursuit  of,  yet  never 
found.  He  had  never  received  the  order  of  St.  George; 
his  could  not  be  obtained  till  he  commanded  an  army 
and  gained  a  victory.  Thousands  of  human  beings 
were  thrown  into  the  scale  with  a  riband  and  star. 
Potemkin  must  be  gratified  with  the  possession  of  the 
toy. 

An  army  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  men,  un- 
der the  command  of  the  celebrated  generals,  Eomantzoff, 
Repnin,  and  Suvaroflf,  commenced  hostilities  against  the 
Ottoman  empire  and,  during  two  years,  passed  from  city 
to  city,  reducing  them  to  ashes  and  inhumanly  massa- 
cring the  inhabitants,  of  whatever  age  or  sex.  The  fierce 
Potemkin  spared  nothing.  The  lives  of  his  troops  were 
of  no  account.  He  simply  gave  orders  from  his  sump- 
tuous tents,  and  if  everything  was  not  gained  that  he 
commanded,  he  was  ready  to  press  his  iron  heel  upon 
the  necks  of  his  own  soldiers.  Catherine,  equally  in 
sensible  to  the  rapine,  bloodshed  and  horrors  of  war, 
gave  balls  and  tournaments  at  her  capital,  distributed 
costlj^  gifts  among  the  conquerors,  and  gave  thanks  in 
the  churches  for  their  bloody  victories. 

In  1790,  Potemkin  sat  with  his  armies  before  Ismail. 
Seven  months  passed,  at  the  end  of  which  the  besieged 
still  firmly  and  bravely  held  out.  Potemkin,  impatient 
at  the  long  resistance,  ordered  it  to  be  taken  in  three 
days.  Suvaroff  obeyed,  and  addressing  his  men  with 
the  brutal  words — "My  brothers,  no  quarter!  Provi- 
sions are  dear !"  he  began  the  assault.     The  Russians 


CATHERINE   OF   RUSSIA.  438 


were  twice  repulsed,  which  added  to  their  ferocity 
when  they  afterwards  succeeded  in  scaling  the  ram- 
parts and  gained  possession  of  the  city.  All  the  inhab- 
itants were  slain,  till  blood  ran  in  torrents  through  the 
streets, 

Suvaroff  immediately  wrote  to  the  empress  with  only 
these  words  :  "  The  haughty  Ismail  is  at  your  feet." 
Potemkin  hastened  to  Petersburg  to  gain  a  reward  for 
victories  he  no  more  had  gained  than  those  for  which 
Alexey  Orloff  had  been  enriched,  Catherine  however 
rewarded  him  with  the  coveted  riband  and  star,  and 
bestowed  upon  him  a  magnificent  palace  and  a  coat 
laced  with  diamonds.  All  he  desired  was  now  attain- 
ed, but  instead  of  the  happiness  he  expected  to  attain 
he  found  himself  the  most  miserable  of  men.  Suvaroff 
and  the  accompanying  generals  proudly  laid  their  lau- 
rels at  the  feet  of  the  empress,  who  smiled  upon  them 
and  bestowed  estates  and  ghttering  jewels  on  the  he- 
roes, as  if  they  were  not  all  bathed  in  the  blood  of  op- 
pressed victims. 

This  war  had  cost  the  lives  of  more  than  six  hundred 
thousand  men,  the  destruction  of  many  cities,  and  the 
exhaustion  of  the  Russian  treasury,  while  nothing  per- 
manent had  been  gained  by  either  nation.  A  treaty 
was  soon  concluded,  but  Potemkin  did  not  live  to  see 
it  accomplished.  In  the  midst  of  his  pleasures  and  his 
vices,  he  was  suddenly  seized  with  dangerous  illness, 
and  with  his  usual  waywardness,  refused  the  advice  of 
physicians  and  set  out  upon  a  journey.  While  travel- 
ling between  Yassy  and  Nicholaef,  he  was  too  ill  to 
proceed,  and,  being  taken  out  of  his  carriage,  was  laid 
28 


434  CATHERINE   OF   RUSSIA. 


upon  the  grass  under  a  tree,  where  he  quickly  expired. 
Not  far  from  the  spot  rested  the  remains  of  the  good 
Howard,  "  As  if,"  says  Dr.  Clarke,  "  the  hand  of  des- 
tiny had  directed  two  persons,  in  whom  were  exempli- 
fied the  extremes  of  virtue  and  vice,  to  one  common 
spot,  in  order  that  the  contrast  might  remain  a  lesson 
for  mankind." 

In  1792,  Catherine  declared  war  against  Poland,  to 
which  she  assigned  various  petty  pretexts,  while  in 
reality,  it  was  the  result  of  her  own  long  meditated  di- 
vision of  that  country.  Her  new  favorites  and  minis- 
ters gladly  acquiesced  in  a  measure  that  promised  them 
a  large  share  in  the  rich  spoils  of  the  unhappy  Poles. 
Frederic  of  Prussia,  acting  in  concert  with  the  empress, 
despatched  an  army  to  unite  with  the  Russian  legions, 
and  together  they  over-ran  the  plains  of  Poland.  At 
Warsaw  the  diet  had  received  the  declaration  of  war 
with  stern  calmness,  succeeded  by  a  burst  of  enthusiasm 
excited  by  a  patriotic  determination  to  free  themselves 
from  the  Russian  yoke,  defend  their  homes,  and  save 
their  nation  from  oblivion.  An  army  was  hastily  sum- 
moned and  placed  under  the  command  of  Joseph 
Poniatoffsky,  a  man  ill-fitted  for  such  a  responsible  post. 
Nothing  but  disasters  accompanied  his  efforts:  the 
Russians  were  everywhere  triumphant ;  the  defenders 
of  Poland  were  dispersed,  their  estates  confiscated,  their 
families  reduced  to  penury  and  servitude. 

While  Poland  thus  lay  bleeding  and  panting  at  the 
feet  of  the  conquerors,  Kosciusko,  whose  name  is  dear 
to  the  lovers  of  liberty,  sprang  up  from  the  despairing 
hosts,  girded  on  the  warrior's  armor,  and,  with  the  glo- 


CATHERINE    OF   KUiSSIA.  435 


rious  resolve  of  rescuing  his  countrymen  and  his  nation 
from  the  haughty  victors,  gathered  about  him  the  few 
bold  spirits,  who  dared  to  offer  themselves  as  a  shield 
to  Poland.  Peasants,  whom  he  caused  to  be  freed  from 
servitude,  augmented  his  little  army ;  he  was  chosen 
their  general.  Inspired  with  the  patriotic  fire  of  the 
brave  leader,  the  enthusiastic  army  swept  all  before 
them.  Had  their  king  and  his  partisans  united  with 
their  efforts,  Poland  might  still  have  had  a  place  among 
nations ;  but  the  dissensions  that,  since  the  accession 
of  Stanislaus  Agustus,  had  rendered  united  action  im- 
possible, occasioned  the  final  triumph  of  liussia  and 
Prussia. 

Catherine  had  sent  fresh  troops,  and  Frederic  sta- 
tioned himself  at  the  head  of  his  own  forces  during 
the  last  engagement.  The  Poles  were  overpowered, 
the  army  cut  to  pieces,  and  the  brave  Kosciusko  fell 
wounded  and  senseless  in  the  thickest  of  the  battle. 
He  was  carried  a  prisoner  to  Petersburg,  confined  in  a 
dungeon  till  the  death  of  Catherine,  and  then  brought 
forth  by  Paul  and  loaded  with  honors.  The  emperor 
offered  him  employment  in  the  Russian  service,  which 
he  declined.  It  is  said  that  Paul  presented  him  with 
liis  own  sword,  in  admiration  for  the  noble  Pole,  but 
Kosciusko  replied,  "I  no  longer  need  a  sword,  since  I 
have  no  longer  a  country."  His  soul  glowed  with  the 
love  of  liberty  ;  melancholy  and  oppressed  at  the  sight 
)f  Poland  in  chains,  he  sought  the  shores  of  young 
America,  and  generously  devoted  his  noble  and  exalted 
powers  to  her  cause.  He  was  too  pure  a  jewel  for  a 
Russian  setting.     Leaving  his  revered  name  associated 


436  CATHERINE   OF   RUSSIA. 


with  the  loved  Washington  and  La  Fayette  in  the 
struggle  for  American  liberty,  he  repaired  to  Switzer- 
land, where  he  died  in  1817.  The  Poles  just  awakened 
to  his  inestimable  worth,  conveyed  his  remains  to  his 
native  land,  and  almost  divine  honors  were  paid  to  his 
memory. 

To  return  to  the  events  of  1794.  Catherine  dis- 
placed Stanislaus  Agustus,  who  had  not  been  adroit 
enough  to  secure  the  confidence  of  either  party ;  she 
sent  him  to  Grodno,  condemned  to  live  obscurely  on  a 
pension  granted  by  her,  and  created  Prince  Repnin 
governor  of  the  provinces  that  fell  to  her  share  in  the 
infamous  division  of  Poland. 

The  following  year,  the  empress  added  another  rich 
province  to  her  empire.  Courland,  by  her  intricate 
and  unscrupulous  stratagems,  was  secured  without 
having  recourse  to  arms,  and  those  who  resisted  her 
usurpations  were  immediately  deprived  of  their  estates 
and  sent  to  Siberia.  The  remainder  were  frightened 
into  submission.  The  death  of  Frederic  of  Prussia 
deprived  her  of  an  assistant  in  her  plots,  and  gave  her 
an  enemy  in  his  successor.  She  threatened  him  wdth 
war ;  at  the  same  time  she  turned  her  covetous  eyes 
upon  Persia,  dbsigning  its  sceptre  for  Alexander,  one 
of  her  grandsons.  For  Constantine,  another  of  Paul's 
sons,  she  intended  to  extend  her  conquests  in  Turkey, 
and  seat  him  upon  the  Ottoman  throne.  Sweden  she 
determined  should  fall  to  Alexandrina,  her  favorite,  and 
beautiful  grand-daughter.  This  princess  is  described 
as  "just  fifteen,  tall,  well  formed,  with  noble  and  regu- 
lar features,  a  profusion  of  fine  hair,  and  eyes  that 


CATHERINE   OP"   RUSSIA.  437 


beamed  with  intelligence  and  sensibility.  In  person, 
mind,  and  manners,  Alexandrina  was  one  of  the  most 
lovely  and  accomplished  princesses  in  Europe." 

Catherine  set  her  heart  upon  making  her  queen  of 
Sweden.  To  accomplish  it,  she  succeeded  in  prevail- 
ing upon  Gustavus  Adolphus,  the  young  King  of 
Sweden,  to  visit  her  court.  He  repaired  to  Peters- 
burg, accompanied  by  the  regent,  his  ministers,  and  a 
brilliant  suite ;  an  arrival  that  occasioned  a  gorgeous 
display  on  the  part  of  Catherine.  Gustavus  Adolphus 
was  nearly  eighteen,  of  elegant  stature,  agreeable  face, 
free  and  graceful  manners,  that  were  calculated  to  cap- 
tivate a  free  heart.  At  their  presentation,  Gustavus 
and  Alexandrina  were  equally  won  by  the  unexpected 
beauty  and  grace  of  the  other  ;  the  charms  of  the  Rus- 
sian belle  overcame  his  affection  for  the  princess  of 
Mecklenburgh,  to  whom  he  was  affianced ;  the  engage- 
ment was  easily  broken  off,  and  the  fascinating  king 
was  soon  the  accepted  suitor  of  the  happy  Alexandrina. 
Articles  of  marriage  were  drawn  up ;  the  day  for  the 
betrothment  appointed,  and  splendid  preparations  for 
its  celebration  occupied  all  the  court. 

The  day  arrived,  and  Catherine,  with  her  officers  and 
attendants,  occupied  the  presence-chamber  in  a  style 
that  equalled,  if  not  outvied.  Oriental  magnificence; 
the  Swedish  suite  in  splendid  court-dresses,  waited 
upon  their  king,  and  the  brilliant  circle  was  completed 
by  the  manly  presence  of  the  royal  groom  and  the 
lovely  bride,  bewitchingly  veiled  in  a  mist  of  costly 
lace.  The  chancellor  Markoff  commenced  reading  the 
contract,  when,  to  the  surprise  of  the  imperial  family, 


488  CATHERINE    OF   RrTSSTA. 


Gustavus  interrupted  him  and  observed  that  the  laws 
of  Sweden  required  that  the  princess  should  change 
her  religion,  without  which  agreement  he  could  not 
sign  the  contract.  The  empress  remonstrated,  flattered, 
almost  entreated,  but  the  young  king  was  immovable. 
Not  willing  to  sacrifice  her  dignity  to  farther  efforts, 
she  coldly  arose  and  with  unaltered  countenance,  ma- 
jestically moved  out  of  the  apartment,  followed  by  the 
pale  bride  and  all  her  attendants. 

Nothing  more  was  said  upon  the' subject.  The  fol- 
lowing day  the  Swedish  king  and  his  suite  quitted  Pe- 
tersburg. Alexandrina,  who  was  the  keenest  sufferer, 
had  been  led  to  her  apartments,  when  she  fainted  away, 
and  afterwards  gave  up  to  a  melancholy,  that  was  not 
diverted  by  her  marriage  with  the  Archduke  of  Austria. 
She  fell  into  a  decline,  and  died  at  the  age  of  nineteen. 

The  mortification  and  disappointment  of  Catherine, 
had  as  fatal  and  a  more  sudden  effect,  because  of  her 
struggle  to  suppress  her  anger  and  chagrin  in  the  pres- 
ence of  curious  spectators.  Her  temper  was  too  im- 
perious to  endure  graciously  such  a  slight.  Whether 
it  was  the  occasion  of  her  death  or  not,  she  was  soon 
after  seized  with  a  fit  of  apoplexy,  that  terminated  her 
life,  the  9th  of  November,  1796.  At  the  height  of  her 
guilty  grandeur,  in  the  midst  of  premeditated  injustice, 
her  hand  raised  with  threatened  violence  against  unof- 
fending nations,  this  wicked  empress  was  summoned 
into  eternity  without  a  moment's  warning.  "  A  happy 
death  1"  said  her  subjects.  "  Happy,"  perhaps,  because 
her  soul  had  made  its  exit  as  completely  veiled  as  she 
had  struggled  to  keep  it  during  her  life. 


CATHERINE   OF   RUSSIA.  489 


The  grand  duke  was  immediately  proclaimed  empe- 
ror under  the  title  of  Paul  I.  His  first  duty  was  to 
direct  the  imposing  ceremonials  of  the  empress'  inter- 
ment. He  directed  the  remains  of  his  father  Peter  III. 
to  be  disinterred  and  brought  to  Petersburg  from  the 
church  of  the  monastery  of  St.  Alexander  Nefsky, 
where  they  had  quietly  reposed  for  more  than  thirty 
years.  His  cofiin  was  placed  beside  that  of  the  em- 
press, and  his  crown,  which  the  unfortunate  monarch 
had  never  worn,  was  brought  from  Moscow  and  placed 
above  him  ;  over  both  lay  a  kind  of  true-love-knot  with 
the  inscription,  "  Divided  in  life,  united  in  death." 

Paul,  probably  from  motives  of  revenge,  ordered 
Alexey  Orloff,  who  resided  at  Moscow,  and  Baratinsky, 
his  assistant  in  the  murder  of  the  deceased  emperor,  to 
stand  one  on  each  side  of  the  corpse  of  Peter  as  chief 
mourners.  In  the  state-chamber  of  the  palace,  draped 
with  sable  hangings,  lighted  with  tapers  and  filled  with 
courtiers  in  gloomiest  black,  these  two  appointed 
mourners  were  obliged  to  station  themselves  beside 
their  mouldered  victim.  Alexey  Orloff  was  too  strongly 
nerved  to  be  overcome  by  this  mode  of  vengeance; 
but  Baratinsky,  more  sensitive,  sank  under  the  doleful 
task,  and  it  was  only  by  repeatedly  applying  stimu- 
lants, that  he  could  be  made  to  keep  his  station  during 
the  three  long  hours  of  ceremonials. 

Count  Orloff  afterwards  received  permission  to  travel^ 
ivithout  asking  it,  which  is  the  Russian  form  of  dismiss- 
ing or  disgracing  a  favorite,  who  returns  to  court  at  the 
peril  of  breathing  the  icy  air  of  Siberia. 

Catherine  II.   reigned  thirty-four  years — years  fiill 


440  CATHERINE   OF   RUSSIA- 


of  glory  and  shame  to  Russia.  Few  of  her  works  re- 
mained permanently,  and  much  of  the  good  she  accom- 
plished was  soon  overturned  under  the  short  and  cruel 
administration  of  Paul.  She  was  neither  loved  nor  hated 
by  the  Russians.  So  accustomed  are  they  to  tyranny,  that 
they  submissively  and  meekly  yield  to  whatever  their 
sovereign  chooses  to  enforce.  Notwithstanding  Cath- 
erine's severity  and  imperious  airs,  she  was  not  a  tyrant 
in  her  own  palace,  but  free,  easy,  and  gay.  She  is  de- 
scribed as  "  preserving  her  grace  and  majesty  to  the  last 
period  of  her  life.  She  was  of  moderate  stature,  but 
well  proportioned ;  and  as  she  carried  her  head  very 
high,  she  appeared  rather  tall.  She  had  an  open  brow, 
an  aquiline  nose,  an  agreeable  mouth,  and  her  chin, 
though  long,  was  not  mis-shapen.  Her  hair  was  au- 
burn, her  eyebrows  black  and  rather  thick ;  and  her 
blue  eyes  had  a  gentleness  which  was  often  affected, 
but  oftener  still  betrayed  pride.  Her  physiognomy  was 
not  deficient  in  expression  ;  but  that  expression  never 
discovered  what  was  passing  in  the  soul  of  Catherine, 
or  rather  it  served  her  the  better  to  disguise  it."  She 
wore  the  Russian  costume,  that  being  the  most  be- 
coming to  her ;  green  was  the  color  most  in  vogue 
with  the  Russians,  and  she  usually  adopted  it.  Her 
hair,  slightly  powdered,  flowed  upon  her  shoulders  and 
was  surmounted  by  a  small  cap  covered  with  diamonds, 
which  gave  a  coquettish  finish  to  her  costume. 

With  a  different  husband  and  a  more  enlightened 
people,  it  is  hard  to  say  what  her  fame  and  fate  would 
have  been.  As  it  was,  a  brazen  face  and  ready  dagger 
were  all  that  she  ever  needed,  and  for  her  use  of  these 


CATHERINE   OP  RUSSIA.  441 


alone  is  she  to  be  credited,  in  seizing  and  maintaining 
her  great  power.  She  deserves  praise  for  encouraging 
the  literature  of  her  own  country,  and  for  tolerating  all 
religions ;  in  these  respects  she  was  nobly  unlike  many 
of  her  compeers.  But  her  private  life  was  disgraced 
by  a  licentiousness  that  she  hardly  attempted  to  con- 
ceal ;  and  she  expended  enough  energy  in  empty  and 
ludicrous  affectations  of  enterprise,  to  have  made  her 
realm  prosperous  and  glorious  in  reality  instead  of  oc 
casional  appearance. 


MARIE  ANTOINETTE. 


J    3  i   3   3 
0  9  O  9   3 


\ 


Q^^Ca^^^c^ey^ 


J&mt  IntnitiEtte. 

"My  hau-  ia  gray,  but  not  with  years, 
For  it  gi-ew  white 
In  a  single  night, 
Aa  men's  have  grown  from  sudden  fears." — Btros. 

The  first  French  Eevolution,  like  the  superlative 
vices  it  both  sprang  from  and  gave  birth  to,  was  *'  a 
monster  of  frightful  mien ;"  but  it  cannot  be  said  of  it, 
as  of  vice,  that 

"  Seen  too  oft,  familiar  with  its  face. 
We  first  endure,  then  pity,  then  embrace" — 

the  revolting  theme,  as  one  congenial  to  any  sympa- 
thies of  our  nature.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  human 
nature,  and  such  a  thing  as  French  nature,  said  a  great 
writer;  and  nothing  but  a  French  temperament,  that 
still  delights  in  "  blue-fire  and  bloody-bone"  fiction,  can 
often  relish  such  a  dish  of  horrors  as  the  Eeign  of  Ter- 
ror,— at  least  it  must  be  a  jaded  Parisian  sensualism 
that  needs  such  an  incentive  to  mental  appetite.  The 
craving  for  the  horrible  that,  like  the  inclination  to  fix 
a  fascinated  gaze  on  the  face  of  the  dead,  or  to  ap- 


4AQ  MARIE   ANTOINETTE. 


preach  and  leap  from  a  precipice,  is  a  strange  attribute 
of  mind,  finds  tliis  portion  of  earth's  history  too  nau- 
seating to  be  many  times  perused.  The  ingredients 
collected  by  the  Witches  of  Macbeth  "  for  a  charm  of 
powerful  trouble,"  of  which  the  most  palatable  were 

"  Adder's  fork  aa'd  blind-worm'B  sting, 
Lizard's  leg  aad  owlet's  vring," — 

are  mere  child's  confectionery  in  the  comparison.  The 
tortures  of  the  Hindoo  and  of  the  American  savage, 
are  tender  mercies  when  contrasted  with  the  "  red  fool- 
fury  of  the  Seine."  And  besides  the  disgusting  and 
stupefying  nature  of  the  details,  they  are  too  familiar 
to  every  one  in  this  reading  age,  to  make  a  repicturing 
of  them  pardonable.  No  subject  has  been  so  often  re- 
hearsed ;  and  it  is  necessarily  and  sufficiently  brought 
into  view  in  the  accounts  of  other  heroines  of  the  pe- 
riod, so  that  the  events  accompanying  Marie  Antoi- 
nette's agonies  may  be  now  dismissed  with  a  glance. 
Into  her  cup,  all  the  blackest  drops  of  those  dreadful 
years  seem  to  have  been  pressed.  So  protracted,  in- 
tense and  every  way  sharpened  were  her  sufferings, 
and  so  indescribable  was  the  monster  Revolution  that 
slowly  crushed  her  in  its  coils,  that  no  language  can 
represent  the  reality,  except  it  be  Pollok's  unequalled 
painting  of  the  Undying  Worm — a  passage  of  poetry 
well  worth  examining  in  this  cuiiuccUuu. 

"  One  I  remarked 
Attentively  ;  but  how  shall  I  describe 
What  nought  resembles  else  my  eye  hath  seen  f 
Of  worm  or  serpent  kind  it  something  looked. 


MAiilE   ANTOINETTK.  447 


But  moustrous,  with  a  thousand  sitaky  head*. 

Eyed  each  with  double  orbs  of  glaring  wrath ; 

And  with  as  niauy  tails,  that  twisted  out 

In  horrid  rcvoiutinii,  tipped  with  stiuga ; 

And  all  its  mouths,  that  wide  aud  tlarkly  gaped. 

And  breathed  most  poisonous  breath,  had  each  a  stmg 

Forked,  and  long,  aud  venomous,  and  sharp  ; 

And,  in  its  writhings  infinite,  it  grasped 

Malignantly  what  seemed  a  heai-t,  swollen  vsiat, 

And  quivering  with  torture  most  intense  ; 

And  still  the  heai't,  with  anguish  throbbing  high 

Made  effort  to  escape,  but  could  not ;  for 

Howe'er  it  tm-ned,  and  oft  it  vainly  tm-ued, 

These  complicated  foldings  held  it  fast. 

And  stiU  the  monstrous  beast  with  sting  of  head 

Or  tail  transpierced  it,  bleeding  evermore." 

Such  was  Marie  Antoinette's  high-throbbing  heart, 
and  such  was  the  mob  of  Paris,  an  unimaginable  drag- 
on, headed  by  mad  tribunals. 

No  connected  sketch  of  the  lifp  of  this  unfortunate 
queen  is  intended;  a  few  scenes  in  that  life  of  wonder- 
fiil  vicissitudes  will  be  given.  The  influences  that  sur- 
rounded her  early  years,  may  be  gathered  from  the 
biography  of  Maria  Theresa,  her  imperial  mother,  who 
gave  birth  to  this  daughter  in  the  palace  at  Vienna, 
Nov.  2d,  1755.  The  day  was  also  memorable  for  the 
great  earthquake  at  Lisbon,  which,  like  the  terrible 
thunder-storm  that  followed  Marie  Antoinette's  mar- 
riage, was  regarded  by  her  as  an  evil  omen,  and  cer- 
tainly was  a  fit  emblem  of  the  earthquake  and  storm 
of  political  revolution  which  buried  the  splendors  aud 
joys  of  her  reign  in  ruin,  misery,  and  death. 

Fair-haired,  beautiful,  and  joyous,  Marie  grew  up  in 


448  MARIE   ANTOINETTE. 


the  peace  and  freedom  of  her  early  home.  She  was 
surrounded  by  brothers  and  sisters  of  remarkable  love- 
liness and  promise,  who  were  enough  company  for  her 
in  all  the  occupations  or  sports  of  childhood  and  youth. 
The  imperial  nursery  was  their  kingdom,  where  they 
ruled  even  their  governesses  and  preceptors,  and  were 
safe  from  all  intrusion.  Their  handsome  and  gay 
father,  the  emperor  Francis  of  Austria,  visited  them 
only  to  mingle  in  their  gayeties,  and  receive  their  noisy, 
familiar  caresses ;  him  they  loved,  and  deeply  mourned 
his  death,  as  of  one  who  was  numbered  in  their  happy 
band.  He  died  when  Marie,  his  favorite  daughter,  was 
ten  years  old ;  and  before  he  set  out  on  the  journey 
from  which  he  never  returned  alive,  he  ordered  his 
coachman  to  wait,  until  she  was  called,  and  he  had 
again  embraced  her  affectionately. 

The  young  princes  and  princesses  regarded  their 
masculine  and  heroic  mother  with  little  feeling  except 
that  of  distant  awe.  She  was  too  much  occupied  with 
her  wars  and  affairs  of  state,  to  think  much  of  her  fam- 
ily. But  once  a  week  did  she  visit  them,  with  much 
the  same  business  spirit  that  she  reviewed  her  troops 
or  inspected  her  public  asylums.  In  the  same  way 
that  one  glances  at  a  morning  paper,  or  that  she  in- 
quired the  foreign  news  of  her  minister,  she  questioned 
her  family  physician,  each  morning,  in  regard  to  the 
health  of  her  children ;  and  she  only  deigned  to  see 
them  when  a  sickness  was  reported,  or  when  she  occa- 
sionally gathered  them  at  her  dinner-table,  in  order  to 
impress  some  ambassador  with  the  idea  that  she  herself 
superintended  their  education. 


MARIE   ANTOINETTE.  449 


The  teachers  of  Marie  Antoinette  were  more  solici- 
tous to  win  her  favor,  from  interested  motives,  than  to 
advance  her  in  knowledge.  As  feigned  proofe  of  her 
proficiency,  they  exliibited  to  the  empress  the  exercises 
in  composition  which  they  had  first  written  in  pencil 
for  Marie  to  trace  afterwards  in  ink,  or  sketches  oi 
drawing  which  she  liad  never  touched  with  her  own 
hand ;  and  they  taught  her  Latin  sentences  which  she 
did  not  understand,  but  calmly  recited  to  visitors  at 
court,  on  occasions  of  presentation,  as  if  she  were  able 
to  converse  in  that  language.  Metastasio,  her  Italian 
instructor,  was  alone  faithful  to  his  charge;  he  was  so 
agreeable  and  assiduous  that  she  could  speak  and  write 
the  soft,  musical  language  of  Dante  and  Tasso,  with 
fluent  elegance.  She  at  length  gained  much  facility  in 
French  conversation ;  but,  through  all  her  life  she  was 
forced  to  lament  her  deficiency  in  every  solid  acquire- 
ment. 

After  her  engagement  to  the  dauphin  of  France,  two 
French  actors,  of  superficial  character,  were  employed 
to  perfect  her  in  elocution  and  singing;  and  when 
these  were  dismissed  as  incompetent,  the  Abb^  de 
Vermond  was  sent  from  Paris,  to  be  her  tutor.  He 
seems  to  have  accomplished  little  else  than  the  encour- 
aging of  her  naturally  unrestrained,  frolicsome  and  ca- 
pricious disposition,  and  the  instilling  into  her  mind  a 
lasting  and  fan-loving  contempt  of  the  ceremonious 
French  court  to  which  she  was  de&tined.  After  her 
arrival  there,  no  effort  of  hers  was  sufl&cient  to  subdue 
her  uncontrollable  vivacity,  the  teachings  of  the  Abb^, 
and  the  fashionable  freedom  of  manners  she  had  learned 
29 


i50  MARIE   ANTOINETTE. 


at  Vienna ;  nor  could  she  then  find  time  or  patience, 
notwithstanding  her  earnest  attempts,  to  master  the 
elements  of  history,  philosophy,  the  Englisli  language, 
or  even  her  native  German,  whereof  she  knew  little, 
the  Italian  being  the  court  speech  of  the  Austrian  cap 
ital.  But  what  was  lost  in  preparation  for  after  life, 
was  gained  in  the  careless  and  unchecked  happiness 
of  youth,  which  was  almost  the  only  unclouded  sun- 
shine of  a  life  that  gradually  darkened  to  the  deepest 
horrors.  Unconscious  of  their  subsequent  splendid  or 
wretched  fate,  she  and  her  brothers  and  sisters,  pouted 
their  "  full  Austrian  lips"  in  mock  vexation,  or  tossed 
their  golden  ringlets  in  mimic  bravery,  laughed,  chat- 
tered, and  romped  at  their  will  through  the  apartments 
that  were  their  little  realm,  or  sported  among  the  trees, 
fountains  and  lakes  of  the  gardens  of  Schocnbrun. 

Fifteen  years  of  life  bloomed  in  the  cheek  and  spar- 
kled in  the  eyes  of  Marie  when  she  bade  a  formal 
adieu  to  her  dignified  mother,  and  a  sad  farewell  to 
her  comrades  and  youthful  scenes ;  her  grief  was  re- 
lieved only  by  anticipations  of  the  magnificence  that 
awaited  her  as  bride  to  the  heir  apparent  of  the  French 
throne.  At  the  borders  of  her  adopted  land,  an  em- 
bassy awaited  to  receive  her,  and  to  conduct  her  to  the 
bridegroom,  who  was  to  meet  her  at  Compi^gne.  "  A 
superb  pavilion,"  writes  Madame  Campan,  "had  been 
prepared  upon  the  frontiers  near  Kell :  it  consisted  of 
a  vast  saloon,  connected  with  two  apartments,  one  of 
which  was  assigned  to  the  lords  and  ladies  of  the  court 
of  Vienna,  and  the  other  to  the  suite  of  the  dauphines&, 
composed  of  tl:  e  Countess  de  Noailles,  her  lady  of  hi.>u 


MARIE    ANTOINETTE.  461 


or ;  the  Ducness  de  Cosse,  her  tire-woman ;  four  ladies 
of  the  bed-chamber ;  the  Count  de  Saulx  Tavannes, 
first  gentleman  usher ;  the  Count  de  Tesse,  first  equer- 
ry ;  the  Bishop  of  Chartres,  chief  almoner ;  the  ofFicera 
of  the  body-guards  and  the  pages.  When  the  dauphi- 
ness  had  been  entirely  undressed,  even  to  her  body- 
linen  and  stockings,  in  order  that  she  might  retain 
nothing  belonging  to  a  foreign  court  (an  etiquette  al- 
ways observed  on  such  an  occasion),  the  doors  were 
opened;  the  young  princess  came  forward,  looking 
round  for  the  Countess  de  Noailles;  then,  rushing  into 
her  arms,  she  implored  her,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  and 
with  a  heartfelt  sincerity,  to  direct  her,  to  advise  her, 
and  to  be  in  every  respect  her  guide  and  support.  It 
was  impossible  to  refrain  from  admiring  her  aerial  de- 
portment:— her  smile  was  sufficient  to  win  the  heart; 
and  in  this  enchanting  being,  in  whom  the  splendor  of 
French  gayety  shone  forth, — an  indescribable  but  au- 
gust serenity — perhaps  also  the  somewhat  proud  posi- 
tion of  her  head  and  shoulders,  betrayed  the  daugliter 
of  the  Csesars." 

Passing  thus  through  the  central  pavilion  to  the 
smaller  tent  occupied  by  her  new  friends,  she  was  ar- 
rayed in  the  costliest  robes  that  France  could  command. 
With  a  dazzling  escort  of  nobility  and  soldiery,  with 
music  and  the  ringing  of  village  bells,  with  illumina- 
tions by  night  and  processions  of  flower-strewing  maid- 
ens by  day,  the  bride  was  hastened  to  the  presence  of 
the  royal  court,  which  had  come  to  Compi^gne  to  meet 
her,  and  to  accompany  her  to  Versailles.  There  the 
wedding  took  place,  on  the  16th  of  May,  1770.     The 


452  MAKIE  antoinettb;. 


utmost  ingenuity  of  the  most  luxurious  people  in  tlieir 
most  luxurious  age,  was  exhausted  in  the  pomp  and 
pleasures  of  the  occasion. 

The  beauty  and  deportment  of  Mario  Antoinette 
added  greatly  to  the  enthusiasm  of  the  scene.  An  eye- 
witness declares  that  "  the  dauphiness,  then  fifteen 
years  of  age,  beaming  with  freshness,  appeared  to  all 
eyes  more  than  beautiful.  Her  walk  partook  at  once 
of  the  noble  character  of  the  princesses  of  her  house, 
and  of  the  graces  of  the  French  ;  her  eyes  were  mild — 
her  smile  lovely.  Louis  XV.  ^the  reigning  monarch) 
was  enchanted  with  the  young  dauphiness ;  all  his  con- 
versation was  about  her  graces,  her  vivacity,  and  the 
a})tness  of  her  repartees.  She  was  yet  more  successful 
with  the  royal  family,  when  they  beheld  her  shorn  of 
the  splendor  of  the  diamonds  with  which  she  had  been 
adorned  during  the  earliest  days  of  her  marriage 
Wlien  clothed  in  a  light  dress  of  tafiety,  she  was  com 
pared  to  the  Venus  di  Medicis,  and  the  Atalanta  of  the 
Marly  gardens.  Poets  sang  her  charms,  painters  at- 
tempted to  copy  her  features.  An  ingenious  idea  of 
one  of  the  latter,  was  rewarded  by  Louis  XV.  The 
painter's  fancy  led  him  to  place  the  portrait  of  Marie 
Antoinette  in  the  heart  of  a  full-blown  rose." 

She  was  not  indeed  regular  in  feature,  but  had 
enough  loveliness  to  justify  such  superlative  praise 
from  her  contemporaries.  Her  figure  was  tall  and 
graceful ;  her  movements  had  the  ease  and  majesty  of 
her  mother  when  she  excited  the  Hungarians  to  arms ; 
her  neck  was  proud  and  swan-like  ;  her  hair  a  light 
auburn,   soft  and  lustrous ;  her   forehead  high,  with 


MARIE    ANTOINETTE.  463 


finely  arched  brows  ;  and  these,  with  eyes  of  luminous 
blue,  full-blown  lips  and  good  teeth,  not  to  mention  the 
brilliant  expression  which  is  the  true  charm  of  a  coun- 
lenance,  more  than  compensated  for  such  defects  as 
too  prominent  a  nose  and  cheek-bones.  Her  lively  wit 
and  impulsiveness  was  her  crowning  attraction,  though 
it  occasioned  her  much  trouble,  through  the  misrepre- 
sentation of  enemies  and  her  unavoidable  infringements 
of  uncongenial  etiquette. 

Her  husband  was  her  opposite  in  everything  but 
kindness  and  sincerity.  He  was  grandson  to  Louis  XV., 
the  voluptuous  king  who  then  held  an  oppressive 
sceptre.  Plain  in  person,  he  was  awkward,  diffident, 
coldly  unimpassioned  in  temperament,  and  devoted  to 
retirement  and  books.  Though  afterwards  a  loving 
husband  and  tender  father,  he  was,  at  first  and  for  years, 
totally  insensible  to  the  glowing  charms  of  his  wife, 
never  showing  her  a  single  mark  of  special  affection, 
nor  acting  towards  her  in  any  respect  as  a  husband. 
She  bore  this  treatment  with  outward  composure  but 
inward  grief  and  indignation.  It  was  this  unaccount- 
able absence  of  love  on  his  part,  and  her  despair  at  the 
odium  that  would  fall  upon  her  if  she  never  gave  an 
heir  to  the  crown,  that  led  her,  uneducated  as  she  was, 
to  a  frivolous  life  of  amusement  and  extravagance, 
which  was  greatly  exaggerated  by  the  scandalous  report? 
of  her  foes.  And  it  was  all  this,  together  with  a  national 
hatred  towards  Austria,  fomented  by  factions  of  the  no 
bility,  that  led  to  the  wreaking  of  popular  vengeance  on 
an  innocent  king  and  queen,  for  the  wrongs  of  centuries. 

Eight  years  of  nominally  married  life  passed  befjre 


454  MARIE   ANTOINETTE. 


Marie  Antoinette  became  a  mother  and  gave  herself  to 
serious  cares.  During  ttis  long  period  she  was  equally 
forced  and  disposed  to  banish  her  private  misery  by 
every  expedient  of  recreation.  Four  years  after  her 
marriage,  her  husband  and  herself  had  succeeded  to  the 
throne,  he  being  twenty-four  years  of  age  and  she 
twenty.  When  the  news  of  the  death  of  Louis  XY. 
was  brought  to  them,  they  were  overwhelmed  with  the 
sudden  responsibility  that  had  fallen  on  them,  and, 
kneeling,  cried,  "  0  Grod,  guide  us,  protect  us ;  we  are 
too  young  to  govern."  But  Marie,  now  a  queen,  had 
still  no  resource  but  in  the  dissipations  of  royalty.  For 
her,  the  palace  of  St.  Cloud  was  provided  at  an  expense 
of  a  million  dollars,  and  a  }" early  income  of  eighty 
thousand  dollars  was  appropriated  to  her  use.  She  had 
every  temptation  to  live  a  butterfly  life  amidst  all  the 
sweets  that  were  profusely  offered  to  her  taste ;  and, 
although  she  established  several  hospitals  and  made 
some  provision  for  the  poor,  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
gorgeous  palace  and  grounds  at  Versailles,  yet  she 
yielded  to  the  enticements  of  fashionable  folly,  willing 
thus  to  drown  her  three-fold  mortification  at  her  igno- 
rance, the  indifference  of  the  king  and  the  calumnies 
of  her  adversaries.  Her  mind  was  natively  vigorous 
and  gifted,  but  was  suffered  to  run  to  waste. 

Besides  St.  Cloud,  a  small  palace  called  the  little 
Trianon,  within  the  bounds  of  Versailles,  was  given  to 
her.  It  was  of  Eoman  architecture,  exquisitely  fitted 
up,  and  situated  among  sequestered  gardens,  in  the 
adornment  of  which  all  the  strange  genius  of  the  times 
had  been  displayed.     Hither  Marie  often  fled  from  the 


MA  HIE    ANTOINF^TTE.  455 


balls,  operas,  festivities  and  tedious  punctilio  of  the 
court,  to  enjoy  intervals  of  quiet  and  liberty.  Arrayed 
in  a  loose  white  robe,  and  straw  hat,  and  with  a  switch 
m  her  hand,  she  tripped  lightly  over  the  fresh  green 
Bward,  and  among  a  little  band  of  friends,  acted  th 
amateur  farmer's  wife,  or  dairy-maid ;  the  exterior  of 
a  thatched  building  was  made  to  represent  a  barn, 
while  the  interior  was  a  brilliant  ball-room,  for  select 
private  parties. 

The  fashions  at  this  period  manifested  the  spirit  of 
the  land  and  the  age,  in  which  Marie's  fortune  was  cast. 
At  the  commencement  of  her  reign,  the  hair,  fall  of 
powder  and  pomatum,  was  erected  to  a  height  that  al- 
most doubled  the  apparent  stature  of  the  ladies.  Car- 
icatures were  published,  representing  hair-dressers  as 
ascending  to  these  towers  of  hair  by  means  of  ladders. 
Hooped  dresses  were  worn,  distended  like  balloons. 
But  the  story  of  Paul  and  Virginia,  in  which  the  simple 
dress  of  the  heroine  is  described,  so  captivated  all 
hearts  that  a  great  revolution  in  dress  was  effected ; 
plain  robes  of  white  muslin  and  straw  hats  succeeded. 
Afterwards,  as  the  Eevolution  advanced,  the  Grecian 
and  Koman  costumes  were  exactly  copied,  in  honor  of 
the  ancient  republics.  This,  hoAvever,  was  after  the 
queen's  imprisonment,  when  she  was  reduced  to  the 
one  dress  which  she  happened  to  wear  at  the  time  of 
her  capture. 

As  an  instance  of  the  f^tes  given  by  the  queen,  anu 
the  manner  in  which  every  deed  of  hers  was  misrepre- 
sented, may  be  quoted  the  description  of  a  scene  at  the 
Petit  Trianon,  on  the  occasion  of  a  visit  from  her  broth- 


466  MARIE   ANTOINETTE. 


er,  the  Emperor  Joseph  of  Austria.  "  The  art  with 
which  the  English  garden  was  lighted,  not  illuminated, 
produced  a  charming  effect :  earthen  lamps  concealed 
bj  painted  green  boards,  threw  a  light  upon  the  beds 
of  shrubs  and  flowers,  and  brought  out  their  several 
tints  in  the  most  varied  and  pleasing  manner.  Several 
hundred  burning  fagots  in  the  moat  behind  the  tem- 
ple of  Love,  kept  up  a  blaze  of  light,  which  rendered 
the  spot  the  most  brilliant  in  the  garden.  After  all, 
the  evening's  entertainment  was  indebted  to  the  good 
taste  of  the  artists  ;  yet  it  was  much  talked  of.  The 
uninvited  courtiers  were  dissatisfied ;  and  the  people, 
who  never  forgive  any  fetes  but  those  they  share  in, 
contributed  greatly  to  the  envious  exaggerations  which 
were  circulated  as  to  the  cost  of  this  little  affair,  which 
were  so  ludicrously  absurd,  as  to  state  that  the  fagots 
burnt  in  the  moat  required  the  destruction  of  a  whole 
forest.  The  queen,  being  informed  of  these  reports, 
was  determined  to  know  exactly  how  much  wood  had 
been  consumed ;  and  she  found  that  fifteen  hundred 
fagots  had  suf&ced  to  keep  up  the  fire  until  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning."  But  neither  in  this  case  nor 
in  any  other,  did  any  contradiction  of  ill-natured  stories 
serve  to  disabuse  the  public  mind. 

The  king  took  no  part  in  the  diversions  of  his  con- 
sort, and  this  gave  color  to  the  gross  charges  circulated 
against  her.  He  was  a  man  of  good  features,  yet  with 
a  melancholy  look  ;  his  walk  was  a  plodding  one ;  his 
hair  and  dress  disorderly,  however  neatly  arranged  by 
his  attendants,  and  his  voice  was  harsh  and  shiill. 
Marie  would  gladly  have  nestled  herself  in  his  affection. 


MARIK   ANTOINETTE.  467 


had  he  proffered  it,  notwithstanding  his  ungaiiily  ap- 
pearance and  stolid  manners.  He  gave  himself  much 
to  study,  was  versed  in  history  nnd  English  literature, 
familiar  with  geography,  and  fond  of  drawing  and  col- 
oring maps.  He  had  also  an  un aristocratic  liking  for 
mechanic  arts,  such  as  masonry  and  lock-making,  and 
would  employ  himself  with  a  locksmith  in  his  private 
room,  froni  which  he  would  often  come  into  the  queen's 
presence,  with  his  hands  blackened  with  this  work. 
But  he  was  a  man  of  upright  and  benevolent  intentions 
and  regular  habits.  Whether  the  queen  were  to  attend 
a  party  or  concert,  or  not,  he  always  retired  to  sleej;  at 
precisely  ten  o'clock.  In  all  church  observances,  he 
was  very  conscientious,  as  also  in  his  endeavors  to  re- 
form abuses  of  government.  And,  after  a  few  years, 
he  gradually  warmed  towards  his  wife,  so  that  he  be- 
came at  length  an  exemplary,  tender  husband  and 
father.  He  was  worthy  of  a  better  fate  than  that  which 
awaited  him. 

Such  were  the  king  and  queen  of  France,  on  whom 
fell  the  iniquities  of  a  long  line  of  sovereigns.  They 
became  the  parents  of  four  children,  two  of  whom  died 
in  infancy,  leaving  Maria  Theresa  and  Louis  Charles, 
two  bright  and  beautiful  children,  the  first  of  whom 
was  eleven  years  old  and  the  last  eight,  when  the  tem- 
pest of  the  Revolution  burst  upon  the  royal  family. 

This  event  was  chiefly  due  to  ages  of  wrong,  to  the 
influence  of  the  American  Revolution,  and  to  the  plot- 
ting factions  of  French  nobles  and  statesmen,  who  in- 
flamed the  populace,  and  brought  destii^xition  on  them- 
selves as  well  as  the"r  good  king.     But  there  were 


458  MARIE   ANTOINETTE. 


many  incidents  i  i  the  queen's  life  which,  perverted  by 
busy  scandal,  hastened  the  fearful  denouement.  The 
chief  of  these  was  the  famous  affair  of  the  diamond 
necklace. 

Marie  was  fond  of  jewelry.  Louis  XY.  had  given 
her  a  necklace  of  pearls,  each  of  which  was  as  large  as 
a  filbert,  and  all  remarkably  alike ;  and  the  crown-jew- 
els she  used  of  course.  She  had  also  bracelets  that 
cost  forty  thousand  dollars.  Bachmer,  the  crown-jewel- 
er, had  gratified  her  with  ear-rings,  composed  of  pear- 
shaped  diamonds,  and  worth  seventy  thousand  dollars. 
H^  now  determined  to  outdo  himself;  he  travelled  over 
Europe,  bought  up  the  rarest  diamonds,  and  made  a 
necklace  in  which  he  expended  a  fortune  of  three  hun- 
dred and  twenty  thousand  dollars.  This  he  offered  to 
the  queen,  but,  to  his  astonishment,  her  taste  had  be- 
come more  simple,  and  her  sense  of  economy  was  too 
strong  for  the  temptation.  By  no  means  could  he  in- 
duce her  to  purchase  his  chef-d^osuvre,  in  which  all  his 
hopes  were  at  stake. 

Meanwhile  the  Countess  Lamotte,  a  relative,  yet  ene- 
my of  the  royal  family,  and  a  dissolute  woman,  forged 
a  promissory  note,  in  the  queen's  name,  for  the  amount 
of  the  necklace,  and  palmed  off  the  deception  on  Car 
dinal  de  Eohan,  who  thus  procured  the  jewels  for  the 
jountess ;  she  disposed  of  them  in  some  way,  and  be- 
gan to  live  in  a  style  of  great  extravagance.  The  sov- 
ereigns believed  the  cardinal  to  be  an  accomplice  in 
the  fraud.  He  and  the  countess  were  tried ;  he  was 
acquitted,  and,  doubtless  to  show  an  indignity  to  her 
'•oval  blood,  she  was  sentenced  by  the  tribunal  to  be 


MARIE   ANTOINETTE.  469 


whipped,  branded,  and  imprisoned  for  life ;-— after- 
wards she  perished  tragically  in  London.  But  it  was 
industriously  reported  that  the  queen  was  privy  to  the 
whole  plot  against  the  jeweler,  and  the  dark  suspicion 
exaspei  ated  many  against  Marie  Antoinette. 

Besides  this,  from  her  first  entrance  into  France,  in- 
numerable tales  were  spread  to  her  prejudice.  From 
the  hour  of  her  marriage,  Madame  du  Barri,  the  trans- 
cendently  fascinating  courtezan  of  Louis  XV.,  jealous 
of  the  influence  of  the  fair  young  Austrian,  did  all  in 
her  power  to  injure  her.  The  old,  formal  dowagers, 
in  their  hoop  dresses  and  black  caps,  who  waited  on 
the  dauphiness,  were  shocked  at  her  youthful  impro- 
prieties, and  became  her  implacable  enemies,  their  spite 
being  specially  increased  by  the  irrepressible  smiles  of 
Marie  when,  on  state  occasions,  her  friend — a  roguish 
young  marchioness — made  sport  of  the  solemn  ladies 
by  playing  pranks  behind  their  backs.  The  Austrian's 
girlish  mirthfulness  and  non-conformity  to  the  absurd  • 
etiquette  of  the  court,  was  improved  to  the  utmost  by 
all  lovers  of  form  or  haters  of  Austrian  supremacy. 
After  she  assumed  the  crown,  she  abolished  the  custom 
of  admitting  the  people  to  see  the  royal  family  dine,  a 
moving  crowd  having  always  been  permitted  to  enter 
the  palace,  and  gaze  at  their  sovereigns  at  table,  from 
behind  a  railing,  as  if  it  were  a  show  of  feeding  wild 
animals; — the  denial  of  this  privilege  was  a  grudge 
against  the  queen.  Her  want  of  education  likewise 
exposed  her  to  the  animadversions  of  the  intellectual 
society  of  Paris,  and  this  was  heightened  bv  b'^^-  natu- 
ral choice  of  not  the  best-informed  ladies  for  her  lavoi 


■iOO  MARIE    ANTOINKTTi-. 


ites.  Her  villa  of  Little  Trianon  was  falsely  said  tc 
have  been  named  by  her  Little  Vienna,  while  it  was 
reported  that  she  hated  France  and  sighed  for  her  na- 
tive land.  She  once  brought  home  a  peasant  child, 
who  had  been  run  over  by  her  carriage  ;  this  child  was 
actually  declared  to  be  an  illegitimate  son  of  her  own, 
whom  she  had  introduced  into  the  palace  by  such  an 
expedient.  At  another  time,  her  royal  chariot  broke 
down  on  the  way  to  the  opera,  obliging  her  to  take  a 
hackney-coach  ;  this  was  maliciously  construed  into  an 
apology  for  some  nightly  assignation.  So  also,  at  a 
levee,  she  expressed  admiration  for  a  heron's  plume 
worn  by  the  unprincipled  Duke  de  Lauzun ;  he  gal- 
lantly presented  it  to  her,  and  she,  not  to  offend  him, 
once  appeared  with  it  in  public — enough  to  feed  the 
greedy  appetite  of  impure  rumor  for  a  long  while.  At 
the  gardens  of  Marly,  with  a  company  of  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  she  took  a  ride  at  night  to  the  hills,  to  see 
the  sun  rise;  and  this  adventure  was  pronounced  a 
covert  plan  of  licentiousness.  After  an  unusual  fall 
of  snow,  she  got  up  a  sleigh-ride  in  the  streets  of  Paris, 
A^ith  rich  equipages,  to  the  surprise  of  all  the  people, 
vvho  accused  her  of  a  design  to  introduce  Austrian  cus- 
toms. In  private  theatricals  she  performed  as  an  ac 
tress,  and  in  private  parties  she  gleefully  engaged  in 
such  simple  sports  as  blind-man's  buff,  to  the  general 
indignation  of  all  sticklers  for  dignity.  In  short,  there 
was  no  end  of  the  stories  set  afloat  by  cunning  persons, 
and  every  incident  was  converted  into  caricature,  a  de- 
famatory picture,  or  a  song  to  be  sung  by  the  street- 
beggars.     She  was  even  insulted  often   to  her  face, 


MARIE   ANTOINETTE,  461 


when  she  imprudently  assumed  a  mask  and  mingled 
with  pronienaders  on  the  avenues. 

After  a  reign  of  nineteen  years,  the  slowly  gathering 
storm  that  long  had  darkened  over  the  heads  of  Louis 
XYI.  and  Marie  Antoinette,  broke  in  the  thundering 
tread,  the  lightning  violence,  and  torrent  rush  of  the 
mobs  of  1789.  Tattered,  haggard,  and  drunken 
crowds,  emerging  from  the  dens  of  Pans,  raged  through 
ihe  streets,  armed  with  pikes,  clubs,  and  every  instru- 
ment that  could  be  converted  into  a  weapon  of  attack. 
The  king  insisted  on  gentle  measures,  and,  when  his 
troops  were  driven  from  the  city,  he  collected  his  army 
around  him  at  Versailles.  The  capital  was  abandoned 
to  the  infuriated  people,  who  levelled  the  Bastile  to 
the  ground,  and  sacked  every  house  they  chose  to  in- 
vade. It  is  in  vain  to  follow  the  course  of  events,  and 
attempt  to  give  the  scenes  of  the  revolution  in  detail. 
The  eye  need  be  listened  now  upon  the  queen  alone, 
in  all  the  awful  trials  through  which  she  passed  to  the 
scaffold.  A  few  brief  paragraphs  only  are  required  to 
set  forth  her  heroic  portrait,  on  the  dark  and  confused 
background  of  that  reign  of  terror. 

From  the  first,  the  determination  of  her  mother  was 
kindled  within  her ;  she  vainly  urged  the  king  to  take 
decided  steps  to  force  down  the  rebellion.  When  he 
was  absent  on  his  dangerous  and  fruitless  visit  to  the 
National  Assembly  at  Paris,  she  prepared  to  follow 
aim  to  the  last  extremity.  On  his  return,  at  a  banquet 
of  the  military  of&cers,  she,  together  with  him,  excited 
as  wild  enthusiasm  as  did  her  mother  among  the  Hun- 
ganans   at  Preshurg.     And  when  the   monster   mob 


462  MARIE   ANTOINETTE. 


rushed  from  the  city,  dragged  iis  mighty  bulk  xloag 
the  road  to  Versailles,  to  coil  its  slimy  and  bristling 
convolutions  around  the  palace  itself  and  shake  its 
thousands  of  hissing  tongues  in  the  very  sanctuaiy  ^f 
royalty,  she,  urged  to  fly  with  her  children,  would  not 
desert  her  lord,  but  said,  "  Nothing  shall  induce  me,  in 
such  an  extremity,  to  be  separated  from  my  husband. 
I  know  that  they  seek  my  life.  But  I  am  the  daugh- 
ter of  Maria  Theresa,  and  have  not  learned  to  fear 
death." 

It  was  the  evening  of  a  dismal,  rainy  day,  when  the 
delirious  and  countless  multitude  reached  Versailles,  to 
hold  its  hideous  orgies  all  night  in  the  gardens  and 
cottages.  Assured  of  protection  by  La  Fayette,  com- 
mander of  the  Guard,  the  queen,  when  it  was  nearly 
daylight  the  next  day,  endeavored  to  get  an  hour's  re- 
pose. But  she  had  hardly  closed  her  eyes  before  the 
swarming  rufl&ans  broke  into  the  palace,  and  thun- 
dered at  the  door  of  her  chamber ;  she  had  barely  es- 
caped to  the  apartments  of  the  king,  when  they  shiv- 
ered the  door  of  her  own,  and  plunged  their  pikes  and 
knives  into  her  empty  bed. 

The  next  day,  her  courage  rose  to  sublimity.  Be 
holding  her  trusty  soldiers  butchered  in  the  courtyard 
o£  the  palace,  she  undauntedly  presented  herself  at  the 
windows,  while  bullets  were  flyirg  around  her;  and 
she  refused  the  protection  of  a  friend  who  threw  him- 
self before  her ;  she  declared  that  the  king  could  not 
afford  to  lose  so  faithful  a  subject  as  he.  The  crowd 
called  for  her  to  show  herself  ir  the  balcony ;  she  came 
forward  with  her  children,  thinking  to  move  tneir  sym- 


MARIE   ANTOINETTE.  "i^B 


pathy ;  they  at  once  roared  forth  the  cry — "  Away  with 
the  children!"  Without  an  instant's  hesitation,  or  a 
change  of  color  in  her  face,  she  sent  away  the  children, 
and  stood  alone  in  the  balcony,  lifting  her  eyes  to  God, 
with  clasped  hands,  and  resigned  to  fall  the  next  mo- 
ment as  a  ransom  for  her  family.  A  dead  silence 
struck  the  mad  concourse;  they  were  overwhelmed 
athersubhme  self-sacrifice,  and  suddenly  from  every 
throat  went  up  the  shout,  "  Live  the  queen ! — live  the 
queen  !" 

With  a  purposeless  phrenzy,  the  poor,  misguided, 
famished,  and  intoxicated  mob,  demanded  that  the  king 
should  return  with  them  to  the  city.  The  queen  would 
not  be  parted  from  him,  and  beyond  all  defjcription  was 
that  ride  of  theirs  to  Paris,  borne  along  as  they  were 
for  seven  hours  by  a  flood  of  desperate  creatures,  who 
loaded  them  with  abuse,  endangered  their  lives  by  fre- 
quent shots,  and  shocked  them  by  the  bloody  heads  of 
the  slaughtered  guard,  carried  on  pikes,  and  thrust  be- 
fore the  windows  of  their  carriage.  Thirty  thousand 
madmen,  armed  with  every  possible  weapon,  sur- 
rounded the  cortege,  and  women,  crazed  with  poverty, 
crime,  and  rum,  were  seated  on  the  cannon  that  were 
rolled  along,  and  sang  ribald  songs  in  ridicule  of  the 
queen.  The  feelings  of  a  motlier  were  too  strong  in 
her  for  any  dismay  on  her  own  .iccount ;  she  held  her 
boy  on  her  knee,  and  tried  to  soothe  his  terrors. 

For  two  years  the  sovereigns  were  little  more  than 
prisoners  in  the  palaces  of  the  Tuilleries  and  St.  Cloud. 
The  National  Guard  surrounded  them,  day  and  night, 
ostensibly  to  protect,  but  really  to  hold  them  captive 


464  MARIE   ANTOINETTK. 


and  constantly  were  they  threatened  with  assassination. 
Marie  Antoinette  in  vain  entreated  her  husband  to  use 
active  measures  to  assert  his  authority,  or  else  to  fly  to 
the  frontiers.  He  possessed  a  calm  and  indomitable 
courage  in  endurance,  but  had  none  for  action,  and  be 
believed  that  repented  concessions  to  the  demands  of 
the  people  would  at  last  satisfy  them.  And  so  she  de- 
voted herself  to  the  instruction  of  her  children,  or  em- 
ployed herself  with  embroidery,  maintaining  a  serene 
and  cheerful  fortitude  during  all  those  months  of 
alarm. 

Many  plans  for  their  secret  escape  were  formed  by 
their  friends.  These  plots  were  either  divulged  and 
the  instigators  beheaded,  or,  if  nearly  successful,  were 
defeated  by  the  inaction  of  Louis.  At  length  the  case 
became  too  desperate  for  even  his  passive  nature.  He 
and  his  wife  were  falsely  accused  of  exciting  the  I'ally 
of  the  allied  powers,  who  were  now  collecting  an  army 
that  threatened  to  march  upon  Paris  and  suppress  the 
revolution  with  fire  and  sword.  The  royal  family 
were  openly  denounced  in  the  National  Assembly,  as 
traitors  to  their  country. 

The  scheme  of  flight  was  matured,  after  long  and 
anxious  deliberation.  The  royal  family  retired  an 
usual,  on  the  night  of  the  20th  of  June  1791,  at  eleven 
o'clock.  No  sooner  were  they  in  their  roo:iis  than 
they  disguised  themselves,  and,  departing  by  the  rear 
doors  of  the  palace  and  taking  separate  routes  through 
the  obscurest  streets  of  Paris,  they  sought  the  render, 
vous  appointed  for  them  to  take  the  coaches  prepared. 
The  queen,  leading  her  daughter  and  accompanied  by 


MARIE   ANTOINETTE.  466 


one  of  her  body-guard,  arrived  soon  at  the  place  agreed 
upon,  but  had  to  wait  a  long  time  in  extreme  anxiety 
for  the  king,  who  had  lost  his  way.  In  silent  and  ago- 
nizing apprehension  they  met,  entered  their  carriages, 
and  were  rapidly  driven,  with  relays  of  horses,  all  that 
night  and  the  next  day,  to  Varennes,  one  hundred  and 
eighty  miles  from  Paris.  Before  reaching  that  town, 
they  had  been  recognized  and  the  news  of  their  ap- 
proach sent  in  advance.  The  circumstances  cannot  be 
rehearsed  ;  a  crowd  collected ;  the  king  declared  him- 
self and  appealed  to  the  people,  but  vainly.  They  had 
arrived  there  in  the  evening;  all  night  the  queen  re- 
mained in  the  mayor's  house;  it  was  the  night  of  her 
intensest  agony,  and,  in  the  morning,  her  hair,  which 
before  was  a  beautiful  brown,  was  found  to  have 
turned  white  in  consequence  of  her  indescribable 
misery. 

The  return  to  Paris,  the  next  day  and  night  after 
their  arrest,  was  a  repetition  of  the  terrible  journey  to 
Versailles,  only  now  it  was  eighteen  times  the  distance, 
and  their  distress  was  heightened  by  utter  exhaustion 
and  hopelessnass.  Kiotous  crowds  thronged  the  road, 
cursing  and  jeering  the  captives,  or  attempting  to  fall 
upon  them  like  greedy  wolves;  and  old  men,  who 
ventured  a  look  or  gesture  of  respect  towards  their 
king,  were  massacred  before  his  eyes,  without  mercy. 
Amidst  suffocating  multitudes,  dust  and  heat,  and 
fainting  with  thirst  and  terror  at  more  daring  menaces, 
they  entered  the  city ;  as  the  doors  of  the  palace  closed 
upon  them,  an  universal  cry  of  rage  rent  the  air  and 
was  prolonged  to  their  ears  hke  reverberating  thunder 
30 


i66  MARIE   ANTOINETTE. 


Guards  kept  their  eyes  upon  the  queen  every  momeui, 
day  and  night,  to  the  outrage  of  her  modesty  and  to 
the  disgrace  of  humanity.  The  king  for  days  was 
struck  dumb  with  despair;  and  af  last  Marie  cast  her- 
self, with  her  children,  before  him,  saying,  "  We  may 
all  perish,  but  let  us  at  least  perish  like  sovereigns, 
and  not  wait  to  be  strangled  unresistingly  upon  the 
very  floor  of  our  apartments."  And  Madame  Eliza- 
beth, sister  of  the  king,  the  other  heroine  of  these 
scenes  and  a  most  saintly  woman,  assisted  in  cheering 
the  unfortunate  monarch. 

And  bravely  did  he  arouse  himself  and  face  the  bru- 
tal mob  that  broke  into  the  palace-prison  the  next  year, 
to  revenge  themselves  for  his  refusal  to  authorize  a  per- 
secution of  the  priests.  They  came  with  banners,  one 
of  which  was  a  doll  hung  up  by  the  neck  and  beneath 
it  the  words — "To  the  gibbet  with  the  Austrian." 
They  wrenched  down  the  doors  and  rioted  through  the 
splendid  apartments,  destroying  everything  in  their  way, 
and  pressed  upon  the  king  and  queen,  who  were  only 
saved  by  maintaining  extraordinary  composure,  and 
uttering  some  popular  expressions  ;  some  sentiment  of 
the  sacredness  of  royal  persons  seemed  to  have  remain- 
ed, and  held  back  the  frantic  concourse  like  a  magic 
spell.  For  hours  the  family  were  exposed  to  the  rush 
and  gaze  of  the  populace,  until  the  president  of  the  As- 
sembly succeeded  in  dispersing  them. 

Further  attempts  to  poison  or  assassinate  the  queen 
were  made,  and  many  insults  endured  by  her.  It  is  in 
vain  to  enumerate  them  ;  it  is  adding  the  same  colors 
to  the  terrific  picture.     The  mob,  in  August,  1792,  de- 


MARIK    ANTOIXETTE.  467 


manded  that  the  king  should  be  dethroned,  and  again 
attacked  the  Tuileries,  at  which  they  pointed  their 
loaded  cannon.  An  officer  urged  the  family  to  take 
refuge  in  the  National  Assembly ;  Marie  resisted  the 
proposal,  and  seizing  the  officer's  pistols,  placed  them 
in  the  hands  of  Louis,  and  said,  "  Now,  sire,  is  the  time 
to  show  yourself,  and  if  we  must  perish,  let  us  perish 
with  glory."  But,  subdued  at  the  sight  of  her  children, 
she  consented  to  go.  Fearful  was  their  passage  through 
the  blood-thirsty  crowd,  while  their  friends  were  butch- 
ered, and  long  were  the  hours  of  suspense,  as  they  sat 
in  a  box  behind  the  seat  of  the  president  of  the  Assem- 
bly. But  they  never  trembled  nor  quailed.  The 
queen  gazed  steadfastly  and  indignantly,  like  the  very 
statue  of  outraged  majesty,  at  the  excited  assembly. 

The  king  was  dethroned,  and,  with  his  family,  was 
imprisoned  in  the  monastery  of  the  Feuillants.  After- 
wards they  were  incarcerated  in  a  gloomy  fortress  called 
the  Temple.  Tl^  reign  of  terror  was  at  its  height,  and 
nothing  but  the  strength  of  their  dungeon  saved  them 
from  the  foaming  desire  of  the  city  to  add  their  royal 
blood  to  the  streams  of  human  gore  that  deluged  the 
streets.  Months  passed  ;  their  few  comforts  were  grad- 
ually withdrawn  ;  one  by  one  they  were  separated ; 
the  king  was  executed :  her  son  was  taken  from  the 
queen,  and  so  abused  in  his  confinement  that  he  after 
wards  became  insane  and  died  ;  and  on  the  14th  of 
Oct.  1793,  four  months  after  her  husband's  death,  Marie 
Antoinette  fell  a  victim  to  the  busy  and  dread  guillo- 
tine. 

When  they  tore  her  son  from  her,  she  resisted  the 


468  MARIE   A^TTOINETTE. 


cruelty  wifh  furious  desperatiou.  And  when  they  took 
her  from  her  daughter,  she  accidentally  struck  her  own 
forehead  against  the  door,  and,  to  the  question  whether 
she  was  hurt,  she  said  wath  the  preternatural  calmness 
of  an  utterly  broken  heart, — "  Oh  no !  nothing  now  can 
further  hurt  me."  In  the  damp,  dark,  loathsome,  un- 
der-ground dungeon  of  the  Conciergerie — the  place  of 
the  doomed — the  daughter  of  Maria  Thersea,  the  ad- 
mired and  gay  queen  of  St.  Cloud  and  Versailles, 
awaited  her  fate.  She  had  stood  up  before  the  vocife- 
rous and  exulting  spectators,  at  the  tribunal,  and  heard 
ner  sentence  without  the  quivering  of  a  nerve,  and 
without  stooping  to  offer  a  word  of  defence,  though  the 
most  groundless  charges  were  uttered  against  her ;  and 
now  she  knelt  in  her  cell,  prayed,  and  then  slept  as 
tranquilly,  as  if  she  were  reposing  on  the  satin  damask 
of  her  Petit  Trianon,  after  a  stroll  among  flowers  and 
fountains. 

Two  hours  of  slumber  passed ;  she  was  awakened, 
and  dressed  in  the  only  fine  garments  that  she  had 
preserved  amidst  her  soiled  array.  She  wore  a  white 
loose  robe,  pure  as  her  innocence,  with  a  cap  and  black 
ribbon  on  her  head.  The  day  was  cold  and  misty ;  at 
eleven  o'clock  her  hands  were  bound,  she  was  placed 
in  a  rough  cart,  and  jolted  along  through  the  crowd 
that  cried,  "Down  with  the  Austrian!"  One  glance 
at  that  scene  of  her  pleasures  and  woes — the  Tuileries, 
and  she  ascended  the  scaffold,  knelt,  and  said,  "  Lord, 
enlighten  and  soften  the  hearts  of  my  executioners. 
Adieu  forever,  my  children  ;  I  go  to  join  your  father." 
Her  children,  in  their  distant  dungeons,  heard  not  the 


MARIE   ANTOINETTE.  469 


VK)rds,  but  we  may  trust  they  were  heard  iji  heaven. 
The  glittering  yet  blood-stained  blade  fell ;  the  execu- 
tioner lifted  her  head  by  the  prematurely  white  hair, 
and  the  air  echoed  to  the  cry,  "  Vive  la  Kepublique !" 
In  her  grave,  where  now  stands  the  church  of  the 
Madeleine,  were  buried  thirty-eight  years  of  as  joyous 
youth,  splendid  pleasures,  and  awful  tortures  as  ever 
fell  to  the  lot  of  a  mortal.  Hers  was  a  wild,  beautiful 
and  noble  nature,  gentle  yet  tameless,  ensnared  from 
first  to  last  in  an  unparalleled  series  of  events,  and  slowly 
tortured  to  life's  close  by  miseries  which  a  superhuman 
ingenuity  could  not  have  more  terribly  devised  than 
did  her  enemies. 


MADAME  ROLAKD. 


i  y  i  •>  > 


,    ,    J  ,     ,  >    3    >    > 


Eagi  ay-  ^.HolrruITT: 


/// 


''ya/a^^rzy^  ^/4^a^. 


♦'  The  mind  is  its  own  place." — Miltow, 

Great  events  are  the  pedestals  that  bear  aloft  noble 
and  beautiful  characters,  which  might  else  lie  low  in 
obscurity ;  nay,  they  are  the  chisel  strokes  which  give 
bold  prominence  to  characters  that  might  otherwise  have 
been  unskilfully  shaped,  or  destined  to  grace  only  a 
hidden  niche.  The  revolutions  that  have  repeatedly 
convulsed  France  must  necessarily  have  furnished  nu- ' 
merous  subjects  for  history.  Though  there  are  many 
whose  career  was  longer  and  more  brilliant,  there  are 
few,  if  any,  who  came  forth  from  the  lower  ranks  of 
life  and  secured,  by  their  talent,  such  influence  over 
intelligent  minds  as  was  gained  by  Madame  Roland. 
Gifted  with  a  vivid  imagination  balanced  by  strong 
good  sense,  quick  perceptions,  and  clear  reasoning  pow 
ers,  and  inspired  by  an  ambition  to  emulate  the  old 
Eoman  heroines  in  the  achievement  of  some  great  and 
virtuous  deed,  it  is  not  surprising  that  she  should  have 
soared  above  the  humble  sphere  in  which  her  girlhood 
was  placed,  even  had  not  her  father's  bitter  denuncia- 


474  MADAME   ROLAND. 


lions  against  the  all-powerful  aristocracy,  or  the  spint 
which  pervaded  the  lower  classes  before  the  outburst 
of  the  revolution,  given  shape  and  direction  to  her  as 
pirations. 

Jeanne  Manon  Roland  was  born  in  1754,  in  an  hunn 
ble  home  on  the  Quai  des  Orfevres,  Paris.  Her  father, 
called  Gratien  Phlippon,  was  an  engraver  and  daily 
superintended  the  thrifty  shop  with  its  busy  workmen, 
which  was  the  source  of  his  limited  fortune.  By  in- 
dustry, economy,  and  the  assistance  of  a  prudent  wife, 
he  had  secured  comfortable  apartments  above  the  shop, 
where  they  lived  as  happily  as  his  restless,  fretful  dis- 
position would  allow.  At  the  time  of  Manon 's  birth 
he  had  grown  discontented  with  his  lot  in  life  ;  hatred 
burned  in  his  heart  towards  the  pampered  nobility 
who  rolled  in  wealth,  while  he  and  his  fellow-laborers, 
were  made  to  yield  an  unjust  portion  of  their  hard 
earnings  to  support  the  luxury  of  arrogant  superiors. 

Madame  Phlippon  had  no  sympathy  with  the  fever- 
ish discontent  of  her  more  ambitious  husband.  Of  a 
cheerful,  placid  temperament,  she  was  satisfied  to  re- 
main in  the  position  in  which  God  had  placed  her,  and 
with  the  faith  and  fortitude  of  a  Christian,  performed 
in  unquestioning  readiness  whatever  she  found  for  her 
hands  to  do.  Thus  to  a  virtuous,  pious  mother,  and  an 
infidel  father  was  given  a  young  spirit,  ready  for  the 
moulding  hand  of  good  or  evil.  Had  Manon  been  one 
of  several  children,  she  might  have  been  left  more  to 
her  mother's  guidance  and  instruction,  but  the  only 
surviving  child  of  eight,  lively  and  precocious,  pretty 
and  winning,  her  father  took  her  into  his  arms  and 


MADAME   ROLAND. 


476 


heart,  made  her  the  constant  companion  of  his  leisure 
hours,  and  as  she  grew  older,  carried  or  led  her  through 
the  streets  of  Paris,  listening  with  delight  to  her  child- 
ish comments  on  the  passers-bj.     Proud  of  the  bright 
little  Manon,  he  was  maddened  with  resentment  and 
envy  at  the  sight  of  gilded  coaches  in  which  lolled 
richly-dressed  ladies,  and  children  muffled  in  expen- 
sive garments  fastened  with  jewels,  any  one  of  which 
would  have  given  a  coveted  education  to  the  poor  arti- 
san's daughter.     Phlippon  gave  vent  to  his  anger  in 
vociferous  words  which  Manon  did  not  comprehend, 
though  they  left  a  vague  idea  of  an  injured  father,  and 
a  dishke  to  dashing  chariots  and  finely-dressed  people, 
as  the  cause  of  his  distress.     The  reflective  mind  of 
the  little  philosopher  soon  grasped  and  studied  out  the 
lessons  her  father  gave.     Before  she  reached  the  age 
when  children  are  most  occupied  with  pastimes,  her 
head  was  fall  of  the  arrogance  of  royalty  and  nobility, 
and  of  schemes  to  fraternize  and  obtain  equality  among 

mankind. 

With  no  playmates,  no  pure  air,  green  fields,  forests 
and  gay  songsters,  to  impart  the  freedom  and  aban- 
donment of  childhood  ;  with  no  diversion  except  daily 
walks  in  a  crowded  city  with  her  father,  who  always 
took  these  occasions  to  teach  her  the  wrongs  of  the  op- 
pressed poor,  and  too  young  to  be  of  assistance  to  her 
mother  at  home,  her  busy  mind  found  occupation,  de- 
lio-ht  and  rest  from  her  father's  nervous  suggestions,  in 
stealing  away  to  her  quiet  little  chamber  and  forgetting 
all  the  world  in  the  perusal  of  her  library,  though  this 
was  so  limited  that  she  could  number  the  books  upon 


476  MADAME   ROLAND. 


her  fingers  any  day.  Plutarch's  Lives,  was  her  es 
pecial  delight — a  book  she  read  and  re-read  with  an 
avidity  that  stored  nearly  the  whole  of  it  in  her  memo- 
ry. Her  soul  was  awake  to  all  that  was  beautiful  or 
sublime,  whether  manifested  in  the  works  of  nature, 
art,  or  the  deeds  of  mankind.  These  pursuits  did  not 
interfere  with  her  usefulness  in  the  household.  She 
was  cheerfully  obedient  to  her  mother's  commands  and 
uncomplainingly  laid  down  a  pet  book  when  her  as- 
sistance was  required  in  domestic  duties.  Thus  she 
became  skilled  in  culinary  arts,  of  which  she  said  in 
her  after  life,  "  I  can  prepare  my  own  dinner  with  as 
much  address  as  Philopoemen  cut  wood,"  and  con- 
gratulated herself  that  her  judicious  mother  had  pre- 
pared her  for  the  vicissitudes  that  marked  her  maturer 
years. 

Madame  Phlippon's  high  tone  of  piety,  together  with 
her  gentle  instructions,  soon  won  Manon's  confidence. 
She  readily  perceived  the  superiority  of  a  religion  that 
cultivated  peace,  fortitude,  and  uprightness  in  its  pos- 
sessor, in  strong  contrast  with  the  overbearing  impa- 
tience, and  fretful  repinings  which  her  father's  princi- 
ples infused  into  his  daily  life.  She  chose  the  former, 
and  for  months  religion  was  predominant  in  her  pen- 
sive meditations,  till  her  active  mind  was  wrought  up 
to  an  unendurable  state  of  excitement.  The  cloister 
presented  itself  to  her  ardent  imagination  as  the  only 
method  of  attaining  the  saintly  purity  to  which  she  as- 
pired, and  as  a  place  of  holiness  and  retirement  most 
suitable  for  preparation  for  her  first  Christian  commu- 
nion.    One  evening  she  threw  herself  in  tears  at  her 


MADAME   ROLAND. 


477 


motaer's  feet,  beseeching  her  to  send  her  to  a  convent. 
Madame  Phlippon  was  deeply  aifected  at  the  request. 
She  did  not  hesitate  to  gratify  a  zeal,  equally  commend- 
ed by  the  father,  who  desired  to  give  Marion  such  an 
education  as  she  could  only  obtain  in  a  convent. 

After  some  difficulty  in  making  a  choice  of  the  nu- 
merous religious  houses,  the  convent  of  the  sisterhood 
of  the  Congregation  la  Paris,  was  decided  upon,  as  be- 
ing conducted  with  less  strictness  and  fewer  of  the  ex- 
travagances of  Catholic  worship  than  most  of  the  nun 
neries.     Mauon  was  accompanied  thither  by  her  good 
mother.     The  thought  of  the  long  parting  from  her 
beloved  mother  brought  torrents  of  tears,  and  when 
the  moment  of  separation  arrived,  the  sensitive  but 
courageous  child  was  overcome  with  grief     In  the  me- 
moirs that  she  penned  while  confined  in  prison,  she 
says   of  this   separation,    "While   pressing   my   deai 
mother  in  my  arms  at  the  moment  of  parting  with  her 
for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  thought  my  heart  would 
have  broken  ;    but  I  was  acting  in  obedience  to  the 
voice  of  God,  and  passed  the  threshold  of  the  cloister 
offering  up  to  him  with  tears  the  great  sacrifice  I  was 
capable  of  making.     This  was  on  the  7th  of  May,  1765, 
when  I  was  eleven  years  and  two  months  old.     In  the 
gloom  of  a  prison,  in  the  midst  of  those  political  com- 
motions which  ravage  my  country,  and  sweep  away  all 
that  is  dear  to  me,  how  shall  I  recall  to  my  mind,  and 
how  describe,  that  period  of  rapture  and  tranquillity? 
What  lively  colors  can  express  the  soft  emotions  of  a 
young  heart  endued  with  tenderness  and  sensibility, 
greedy  of  happiness,  beginning  to  bo  alive  to  the  feel- 


478  Madame  roland. 


ings  of  nature  and  perceiving  the  Deity  alone?  The 
first  night  I  spent  at  the  convent  was  a  night  of  agita- 
tion. I  was  no  longer  under  the  paternal  roof,  I  was 
at  a  distance  from  that  kind  mother,  who  was  doubtless 
thinking  of  me  with  affectionate  emotion.  A  dim 
light  suffused  itself  through  the  room  in  which  I  had 
been  put  to  bed,  with  four  children  of  my  own  age. 
I  stole  softly  from  my  couch,  and  drew  near  the  win- 
dow, the  light  of  the  moon  enabling  me  to  distinguish 
the  garden,  which  it  overlooked.  The  deepest  silence 
prevailed,  and  I  listened  to  it,  if  I  may  use  the  expres- 
sion, with  a  sort  of  respect.  Lofty  trees  cast  their  gi- 
gantic shadows  along  the  ground,  and  promised  a  se- 
cure asylum  to  peaceful  meditation.  I  lifted  up  my 
eyes  to  the  heavens  ;  they  were  unclouded  and  serene. 
I  imagined  I  felt  the  presence  of  the  Deity  smiling  on 
my  sacrifice,  and  already  offering  me  a  reward  in  the 
consolatory  peace  of  a  celestial  abode.  Tears  of  de- 
light flowed  gently  down  my  cheeks.  I  repeated  my 
vows  with  holy  ecstacy,  and  went  to  bed  again  to  take 
the  slumber  of  God's  chosen  children." 

Here,  in  the  society  of  young  girls  of  various  ages, 
Man  on  remained  for  a  year.  Her  womanly  conduct 
and  intellectual  acquirements  very  soon  gained  her  the 
favor  and  affection  of  the  whole  sisterhood  and  the  as- 
sociation of  the  young  ladies  placed  under  their  tuition. 
She  never  mingled  in  the  sports  of  vounger  compan- 
ions, nor  the  recreations  of  older  ones,  much  preferring 
to  steal  away  by  herself  in  some  remote  corner  of  the 
garden,  with  her  books,  or,  pacing  the  avenues,  to  en- 
joy in   quiet  rapture   the  sight  of  blooming  flowers. 


MADAME   ROLAND  479 


quivering  leaves,  or  trailing  branches  of  the  shade-trees, 
and  the  fleecy  clouds  flitting  over  the  blue  space  above 
her,  narrowly  bounded  by  the  high  convent  walls. 
Every  other  moment  was  busily  employed  with  her 
books.  Romances,  legends,  lives  of  the  saints,  biog- 
raphy, travels,  history,  political  philosophy,  poetry — 
nothing  escaped  the  grasp  of  her  active  mind.  The 
nuns,  to  whose  care  she  was  committed,  were  proud  of 
her  progress.  Her  music  and  drawing  masters  were 
equally  profuse  in  the  praises  of  a  pupil  who  never  al- 
lowed an  obstacle  to  check  her  rapid  advance.  Ca- 
ressed, loved,  and  commended  without  measure,  she 
had  good  sense  enough  not  to  be  spoiled.  She  was 
the  especial  favorite  of  an  antiquated  sister  of  seventy 
years,  whose  diminutive  figure,  preciseness  of  manner, 
arid  affectation  of  sanctity,  which  nevertheless  concealed 
a  warm  heart,  made  an  indelible  impression  on  the  lively 
imagination  of  her  thoughtful  pupil.  She  led  her  away 
to  her  own  dimly-lighted  cell,  and  there  chatted  for 
hours  with  the  young  listener,  who  received  the  old 
nun's  lessons  or  tales  with  an  avidity  redoubled  by  the 
solitude  of  the  cell.  Her  influence  assisted  to  sharpen 
Manon's  already  too  active  emotions,  and  imparted 
such  a  degree  of  intensity  to  her  religious  fervor,  that 
when  the  season  for  communion  arrived,  the  child  was 
60  overcome,  that  she  could  not  support  herself,  and 
was  carried  to  the  altar  by  the  nuns. 

Everything  within  the  convent  contributed  to  nou- 
rish and  increase  the  unhealthy  excitement  of  Manon's 
sensitive  nature.  The  event  of  a  young  girl  taking 
the  white  veil  occurred  some  months  after  her  entrance 


480  MADAME    ROLAND. 


into  the  convent.  The  sight  of  the  church  and  altar 
decorated  with  flowers,  and  enriched  with  silken  drap- 
eries, the  brilliant  lights,  the  gayly  dressed  crowd  that 
assembled  to  witness  the  ceremony,  above  all,  the  en 
tombed  bride,  with  her  white  veil,  rolling  volumes  of 
dark  hair,  the  crown  of  roses,  the  pale,  beautiful  down- 
cast face,  excited  the  sympathy  of  the  affectionate 
Manon ;  and  when  the  bridal  dress  was  exchanged  for 
one  of  sombre  hue,  her  head  dismantled  of  its  crown- 
ing beauty,  and  her  form  extended  with  folded  hands, 
beneath  a  black  pall — the  excited  child,  imagining  her- 
self in  the  place  of  the  victim,  could  no  longer  repress 
her  emotions,  and  burst  into  an  uncontrollable  parox 
ysm  of  tears.  Such  scenes,  the  daily  sights  and  sounds 
of  vesper  bells,  the  hooded  monks  and  shrouded  nuns 
in  the  taper-lighted  chapel,  the  gloomy  burials  at  night 
by  torchlight,  were  all  fitted  to  oppress  the  child's 
spirit  with  awe,  and  fill  her  with  yearnings  for  seclud- 
ed holiness  and  death,  instead  of  healthy,  active  exer- 
tion in  behalf  of  mankind.  It  was  an  excessive  and 
mistaken  religious  zeal,  which  she  threw  off  with  its 
imposing  and  beguiling  rites,  for  the  other  extreme 
of  philosophy  and  infidelity,  when  arrived  at  woman- 
hood. 

There  was  but  one  among  the  inmates  of  the  con- 
vent, who  Manon  singled  out  as  her  friend  and  confi- 
dant,— one  for  whom  she  always  maintained  an  un- 
changed attachment.  The  usual  quiet  routine  of  con- 
vent life  was  broken  one  day  by  the  arrival  of  two 
voung  ladies — an  event  that  excited  the  curiosity  of 
the  young  girls,  shut  out  from  the  world.     "  Who  are 


MADAME    ROLAND.  481 


they?  What  are  they  like?"  were  questions  that  sped 
unanswered  from  lip  to  lip  of  a  group  in  the  garden, 
bent  upon  a  scrutiny  of  the  two  young  ladies  led  thither 
by  the  superior.  One  was  eighteen ;  finely  formed,  of 
proud  but  easy  carriage,  with  a  face  that  had  strong 
jlaims  to  beauty  when  not  disfigured  by  an  expression 
of  discontent  and  fretfuluess.  She  had  previously 
completed  her  convent  education,  but  was  returned  by 
her  mother  in  order  to  put  in  check  her  ungovernable 
temper,  and  to  accompany  her  younger,  more  amiable, 
and  timid  sister.  The  latter,  fourteen,  with  a  modest 
air  and  sweet  countenance  bathed  in  tears,  attracted  the 
sympathy  and  love  of  the  impressible  Manon  the  mo- 
ment their  eyes  met.  From  the  day  of  Sophia's  arrival 
the  two  were  inseparable.  Sophia  was  henceforth  the 
receptacle  of  all  the  dreams,  the  aspirations,  and  the 
philosophical  musings  of  the  mature  child,  wearied  and 
overburdened  with  the  pent-up  thoughts  and  emotions 
daily  crowding  into  her  mind  and  heart.  This  was 
not  a  transient,  school-girl  friendship ;  it  was  one  sus- 
tained in  an  unfailing  correspondence  after  their  sep- 
aration. Madame  Roland  owed  as  much  of  the  facility 
and  clearness  of  expression  visible  in  her  writings,  to 
the  frequent  letters  she  early  exchanged  with  her  friend, 
as  to  the  habitual  practice  of  taking  notes  from  the 
books  she  perused,  and  interlining  them  with  her  own 
thoughts  and  opinions. 

When  the  year  of  her  stay  at  the  convent  had  ex- 
pired, her  mother  placed  her  under  the  care  of  her 
grandmother  Phlippon,  a  graceful,  good-humored  little 
woman  of  sixty -five  years,  still  possessing  agreeable 
31 


^82  MADAME   ROLAND. 


manners,  and  an  occasional  mirthfulness  that  made  her 
a  favorite  with  the  young.  But  her  prominent  char- 
acteristic was  the  precision  with  which  she  enforced 
and  observed  decorum ;  the  little  courtesies  and  ele- 
gances of  manner  were  of  the  highest  importance  in 
her  judgment.  Her  unpretending  pleasant  home  was 
on  the  banks  of  the  Seine,  commanding  a  lively  view 
of  the  winding  river,  and  a  wide  landscape  beyond. 
This  w;is  a  charming  retreat,  where  Manon  could  in- 
dulge in  her  meditative,  studious  habits,  to  her  heart's 
content.  Every  morning  she  attended  mass  with  her 
gTeat-aunt,  Angelica,  "a  worthy  maiden,  asthmatic  and 
devout,  as  virtuous  as  an  angel  and  as  simple  as  a 
child,"  and  entirely  devoted  to  her  elder  sister  with 
whom  she  lived.  A  third  sister,  Madame  Besnard, 
came  frequently  to  visit  them,  always  keeping  up  an 
air  of  ceremony  and  formality  that  greatly  exceeded 
even  Madame  Phlippon.  Manon  was  most  frequently 
the  theme  of  their  conversation,  Madame  Besnard  in- 
sisting with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders  the  child  would 
be  spoiled,  while  the  good  Angelica,  meek,  quiet,  and 
pale,  busy  with  her  spectacles  and  knitting,  assured  the 
two  precise ,  old  ladies  that  Manon  had  good  sense 
enough  to  take  care  of  herself — and  continued  to  pet 
her  as  before. 

Madame  Phlippon  was  so  delighted  and  proud  of 
her  grand-daughter's  accomplishments,  that  she  was 
induced  to  display  her  talent  and  prettiness  before  a 
wealthy  lady  of  whose  children  she  had  formerly  been 
governess.  Accordingly  Manon  was  decked  in  holi 
day  dress,  and  the  greatest  preparation  and  care  be 


MADAM  K    ROLAND.  483 


stowed  upon  her  appearance.  Arriving  at  the  mansion, 
they  were  greeted  by  the  servants  with  the  greatest 
respect,  and  as  they  passed  on,  the  niaitls,  attracted  by 
the  long  dark  ringlets  and  blooming  cheeks  of  the 
Voung  visitor,  ventured  to  compliment  her.  Marion's 
pride  rose  at  the  familiarity,  and  without  replying  she 
followed  her  ceremonious  grandmother  to  the  elegant 
apartments  of  Madame  Boismorel.  The  lady  received 
them  in  a  cold  condescending  tone  of  voice,  without 
rising,  and  continued  the  embroidery  upon  which  she 
was  engaged.  She  addressed  her  dignified  visitor  with 
the  flippant  title  of  Mademoiselle,  and  openly  remarked 
upon  Manon's  blooming  face.  The  indignant  girl's 
countenance  was  suifused  with  blushes,  and  her  heart 
swelled  with  scorn  and  resentment  that  her  venerated 
grandmother  should  be  regarded  with  so  Utile  respect, 
and  that  she  herself,  conscious  of  superior  worth,  and 
aspiring  to  the  nobleness  of  a  Eoman  maiden,  should  be 
looked  down  upon  by  this  arrogant  lady,  and  treated 
as  an  equal  by  her  servants.  Manon  was  glad  when 
the  interview  terminated,  and  retreated  with  her  pulse 
throbbing  and  her  face  crimsoned  with  mortified  pride 
and  anger.  Again  under  their  own  humble  roof,  she 
returned  to  her  studies,  her  head  teeming  with  specu- 
lations upon  the  inequality  of  rank,  that  awakened 
from  their  loTig  sleep  the  prejudices  of  her  childhood. 

At  the  expiration  of  a  yeai  Manon  returned  to  the 
parental  roof.  Her  music  and  dancing  masters  were 
recalled,  and  she  resumed  her  studies  with  more  assi- 
duity than  ever.  Every  book  within  her  reach  was 
carefully  perused.     Locke,  Pascal,  Burlamaque,  Hon- 


484  MAUAME   ROLANlJ. 


tesquieu,  Voltaire,  were  familiar  authors.  An  occa- 
sional poem  or  a  romance  relieved  her  severer  studies. 
The  long  winter  evenings  she  spent  beside  her  mother 
with  her  needlework,  or  read  aloud,  to  which  however 
she  had  a  decided  aversion,  as  it  prevented  the  close 
inquiry  and  study  she  indulged  when  poring  over  the 
pages  by  herself.  She  had  the  use  of  a  library  belong- 
ing to  the  Abbe  le  Jay,  a  warm-hearted  old  man  with 
little  else  to  recommend  him,  but  with  whom  Gratien 
Phlippon  and  his  family  spent  their  Sabbath  evenings. 
The  Abbe's  household  was  superintended  by  a  distant 
relative.  Mademoiselle  d'Hannaches.  She  was  a  source 
of  infinite  amusement  to  the  discerning  Manon.  Ad- 
vanced in  years,  yet  preserving  a  youthful  style  of 
dress,  tall,  thin,  and  sallow,  with  a  shrill  voice  forever 
recounting  her  pedigree,  of  which  she  was  intolerably 
proud,  possessing  no  talent  but  for  a  stingy  economy 
and  scolding,  she  was  destined  to  become  one  of  Ma- 
nou's  attaches,  and  as  inseparable  as  her  own  shadow 
for  a  year  and  a  half  The  Abbe  le  Jay  terminating 
his  own  life,  left  his  poor  relative  without  a  home. 
Madame  Phlippon  had  compassion  for  her  solitary  con- 
dition, and  offered  her  an  asylum  till  the  suit  she  had 
instituted  for  the  recovery  of  an  uncle's  property  was 
decided.  During  this  time  Manon  was  her  secretary ; 
she  wrote  letters  and  petitions  for  her,  and  often  accom- 
panied her  when  she  went  to  intercede  with  influential 
persons.  Mademoiselle  d'Hannaches  was  extremely 
illiterate  and  ill-bred ;  she  therefore  depended  upon 
Marion's  ready  tact  on  all  occasions,  but  when  they 
went  together  on  these  errands,  the  young  philosoplier 


MA1)AME  ROLAND.  486 


was  tilled  with  disgust  and  contempt,  on  seeing  the  ob- 
sequious attentions  her  whimsical,  ignorant  friend  re- 
ceived, the  moment  the  ready  names  of  her  long  line 
of  titled  ancestry  dropped  from  her  nimble  tongue,  with 
as  good  effect  as  if  they  had  been  pearls  falling  from 
the  lips  of  Beauty,  while  she,  the  one  of  true  nobility, 
stood  unnoticed  and  slighted,  feeling  her  superiority, 
and  revolving  in  her  busy  mind  the  absurd  and  unjust 
institutions  of  society. 

At  fifteen  Manon  was  graceful  and  pleasing;  her 
face  was  attractive  from  its  varying  expression,  frank, 
lively  and  tender,  often  lofty  and  serious ;  the  irregu- 
larity of  her  features  was  atoned  for  by  her  clear  fresh 
complexion  and  the  brilliancy  of  her  hazel  eyes.  Mod- 
est and  reserved,  an  inferior  person  would  scarcely 
have  suspected  her  strong  talents,  but  when  she  came 
in  contact  with  cultivated  minds  she  was  transformed 
from  a  timid  blushing  maiden  to  a  brilliant,  self-pos- 
sessed woman,  with  a  soul  that  beamed  through  every 
feature,  giving  animation  and  indisputable  beauty  to  a 
face  that  otherwise  would  have  been  plain. 

Thinking  to  amuse  her,  Madame  Phlippon  decided 
upon  a  trip  to  Versailles  accompanied  by  Mademoiselle 
d'Hannaches  and  an  uncle,  an  amiable  young  clergy- 
man, as  an  escort.  They  occupied  apartments  in  the 
palace,  which  happened  to  be  vacated  by  one  of  the 
dauphiness'  women,  and  amused  themselves  with  being 
spectators  of  the  royal  public  and  private  dinners,  and 
witnessing  some  of  the  splendors  of  palace-life. 

Mademoiselle  d'Hannaches,  by  her  forward  airs  and 
noisy  thrusting  of  her  pedigree  in  the  face  of  every  one 


486  MADAMJi;   KOLAND. 


who  opposed  her  passage,  drew  attention  upon  the  ht 
tie  party,  wherever  they  went,  much  to  Manon's  mor- 
tification. She  looked  thoughtfully  upon  the  gaily- 
dressed  crowds  about  her,  despised  the  fawning  cour- 
tiers, and  gazed  with  indignation  upon  the  grand  fetes, 
the  brilliant  equipages  and  the  luxuriant  apartments 
of  the  palace,  contrasting  them  with  the  squalid  homes 
and  the  pale  emaciated  crowds  that  went  forth  in  daily 
labor,  and  from  whom  was  wrenched  half  their  scanty 
pittance  to  support  this  splendor.  Neither  could  her 
high  spirit  brook  the  notice  of  menials  and  the  slights 
of  court  sycophants,  whom  she  felt  to  be  immeasurably 
beneath  her.  Instead  of  being  amused  with  the  daily 
show,  she  wandered  away  to  the  gardens  to  forget  her 
disgust  in  admiration  of  the  flowers  and  the  statues 
that  graced  them,  yet  even  there,  was  tormented  with 
thoughts  of  despotism  and  oppression,  and  sighed  that 
she  had  not  been  born  a  Grecian  maiden.  Her  mother, 
observing  Manon's  abstraction,  asked  how  she  enjoyed 
the  visit?  "  I  shall  be  glad  when  it  is  ended,"  was  her 
characteristic  reply,  "  else,  in  a  few  more  days,  I  shall 
30  detest  all  the  persons  I  see  that  I  shall  not  know 
what  to  do  with  my  hatred."  "  Why  what  harm  have 
these  persons  done  you  ?"  said  Madame  Phlippon, 
"They  make  me  feel  injustice  and  look  upon  absur- 
dity," replied  the  young  sage.  She  was  happy  to  be 
buried  again  in  the  retirement  of  her  own  home. 

Sophia  Cannet,  her  friend  of  the  convent,  having  ar- 
rived at  Paris  with  her  brother,  drew  Manon  more  into 
society,  and  enabled  her  to  meet  people  of  rank,  whose 
ignorance  and  supercilious  airs,  she  often  had  occasion 


MADAME    ROLAND.  487 


to  despise,  and  also  gave  her  friends  among  authors 
and  people  of  distinguished  talent.  She  had  attained 
an  age  and  attractiveness  that  could  not  escape  atten- 
tion, and  thenceforth  Manon  had  numberless  suitors, 
who,  according  to  the  customs  of  France,  were  first 
obliged  to  apply  to  her  parents ;  an  embarrassing  cere- 
mony that  was  most  freqaently  performed  by  letter- 
writing.  In  consequence,  suitors  were  often  dismissed 
by  her  father,  whom  she  had  never  seen.  She  was 
satisfied  to  judge  of  them  by  the  tone  of  the  application, 
and  concurred  in  the  dismission  of  one  tradesman  after 
another,  often  writing  the  replies  herself,  which  were 
carefully  copied  and  sent  by  her  father.  When  a 
wealthy  jeweller  appeared,  Phlippon  was  caught  by 
the  glitter  of  his  occupation  and  his  promising  pros- 
pects of  accumulating  a  large  fortune.  He  urged  upon 
Manon,  the  expediency  of  accepting  this  suitor,  but  she 
was  dissatisfied  with  his  attainments  and  assured  her 
parents  she  could  only  be  happy  with  one  whom  she 
could  look  upon  as  her  equal  or  superior.  This  refu- 
sal occasioned  the  beginning  of  the  estrangement  be- 
tween herself  and  father,  which  was  never  reconciled. 

Upon  the  appearance  of  a  young  physician,  her 
parents  thought  the  aspiring  Manon  would  not  hesitate 
to  accept  one  of  a  profession,  that  involved  some  de- 
gree of  learning.  Her  mother,  whose  declining  health 
made  her  anxious  to  see  her  daughter  happil}'^  provided 
with  a  home,  concerted  with  the  young  doctor,  to  win 
Manon's  affections.  A  first  interview  was  carefully  ar- 
ranged. Madame  P.  conducted  her  daughter,  as  if  un- 
premeditated, to  the  house  of  a  friend,  where  the  enam- 


488  MADAME  ftOtANl/. 


ored  suitor  happened  in  bj  chance,  of  course.  The 
profuse  compliments  of  the  inexperienced  physician 
and  the  sly  hints  and  meaning  smiles  of  the  ladies  who 
accompanied  him,  soon  betrayed  the  whole  plan  to  the 
penetrating  Manon  and  caused  her  to  look  with  infinite 
contempt  upon  the  silly  artifices  of  her  admirer.  She 
consented  however  to  her  mother's  urgent  entreaties  to 
receive  his  visits  and  decide  more  leisurely,  but  a  farther 
acquaintance  betrayed  his  superficial  acquirements,  and 
the  girl,  whose  intellect  was  to  be  won  instead  of  her 
heart,  gave  him  as  decided  a  refusal  as  those  who  had 
gone  before.  In  vain  her  father  raged  and  stormed, 
and  even  the  tender,  sad  pleadings  of  her  invalid 
mother  could  not  change  her  determination.  "  Do  not 
reject  a  husband,"  said  her  mother,  "  who  it  is  true 
does  not  possess  the  refinement  you  desire,  but  who 
will  love  you  and  with  whom  you  can  be  happy."  "As 
happy  as  you  have  been,"  exclaimed  Manon  in  her  ex- 
citement, referring  to  the  utter  disunion  of  spirit  be- 
tween her  father  and  mother.  Madame  Phlippon's 
face  was  pale  with  painfiil  emotion,  and  she  never  urged 
the  subject  again. 

Not  long  after,  Manon  returned  hastily  from  a  visit, 
filled  with  presentiments  of  evil,  and  found  her  mother 
suddenly  ill,  and  unable  to  speak.  A  priest  was  sum- 
moned to  perform  the  last  rites,,  and  Manon  sobbing 
vldently  stood  by  the  death-bed  holding  a  taper.  Her 
mother  smiled  upon  her  and  smoothed  her  cheek  affec- 
tionately, till  overcome  with  the  intensity  of  her  grie^ 
she  fell  senseless  to  the  floor,  the  light  was  extinguished 
and  when  she  again  recovered,  her  mother  was  no  more 


MAT)AME  ROLAND.  489 


The  violence  of  her  unchecked  sorrow  occasioned  an 
ilhiess  from  which  her  recovery  was  long  doubtful 
An  excursion  and  soothing  visit  with  her  aunt  Angelica 
somewhat  restored  her  cheerfulness,  but  her  home  was 
no  longer  what  it  had  been.  Her  father  was  rapidly 
pursuing  a  career  of  dissipation,  to  which  his  infidel 
principles  gave  loose  reins.  His  business  neglected, 
his  little  iurtuno  rapidly  vanisliiiig,  ensnared  in  the 
toils  of  one  not  endeared  by  sacred  ties  and  whom  he 
installed  in  the  quiet  household — all  contributed  to  re- 
pel his  daughter's  affection.  She  endeavored  to  forget 
her  grief  and  her  melancholy  in  her  retired  chamber, 
where  nearly  all  her  time  was  passed,  absorbed  in  books, 
and  writing  manuscripts  which  never  met  any  eyes  but 
her  own. 

While  thus  solitary  and  desponding,  a  letter  from  her 
early  friend  Sophia,  announced  a  visitor  of  whom  she 
had  often  heard.  Roland  de  la  Plati^re  belonged  to  an 
opulent  family  of  Amiens,  and  held  the  important  of- 
fice of  inspector  of  manufactures.  During  his  leisure 
he  had  written  several  treatises  on  political  economy 
that  had  gained  him  some  celebrity  in  the  world.  He 
was  fond  of  study,  and  was  something  of  a  philosopher. 
In  his  frequent  visits  to  the  house  of  M.  Cannet,  he 
had  seen  Manon's  portrait,  and  often  listened  to  Sophia's 
eulogies  upon  her  accomplished  friend,  and  had  read 
her  letters.  His  interest  was  excited  in  the  enthusiastic 
and  talented  girl,  and  he  entreated  a  letter  of  intro- 
duction, that  he  might  be  enabled  to  see  her  during 
his  occasional  trips  to  Paris.  He  accordingly  presented 
himself  at  the  first  opportunitv.     Manon  was  prepared 


400  MADAME   ROLAND. 


to  judge  of  him  bj  the  sketch  justly  drawn  by  Sophia. 
"  You  will  receive  this  letter,"  wrote  her  friend,  "  by 
the  hand  of  the  philosopher  of  whom  I  have  so  often 
written  you.  M.  Eoland  is  an  enlightened  man,  of 
antique  manners,  without  reproach,  except  for  his  pas- 
sion for  the  ancients,  his  contempt  for  the  moderns, 
and  his  too  high  estimation  of  himself." 

Manon  found  herself  in  the  presence  of  one  who  she 
describes  as  tall,  slender,  and  well-formed,  but  negli- 
gent in  his  carriage,  and  with  that  stiffness  which  is 
often  contracted  by  study ;  yet  his  manners  were  sim- 
ple and  easy,  and  without  possessing  the  fashionable 
graces,  he  combined  the  politeness  of  a  well-bred  man 
with  the  gravity  of  a  philosopher.  He  was  thin,  with 
a  complexion  much  tanned.  His  broad,  intellectual 
brow,  covered  with  but  few  hairs,  added  to  the  imposing 
attractiveness  of  regular  features.  When  listening,  his 
countenance  expressed  deep  thoughtfulness  and  often 
sadness,  but  once  interested  and  animated  in  conversa- 
tion, his  face  was  lighted  with  lively  and  winning 
smiles.  His  voice  was  masculine  ;  his  language  monot- 
onous and  harsh,  but  the  sentiments  he  expressed,  so 
perfectly  accorded  with  Manon's  views  that  she  felt 
herself  attracted  by  a  sympathy  as  new  as  it  was  de- 
lightful. Though  his  severe  and  practical  mind  admit- 
ted none  of  the  beautiful  dreams  or  the  visionary  world 
that  added  so  much  to  Manon's  happiness,  there  was 
yet  that  sameness  of  high  ambition  to  be  the  benefactor 
of  the  human  race,  a  conscious  superiority  over  those 
whose  rank  gave  them  higher  places,  and  a  contempt 
for  the  frivolous  pursuits  of  life,  that  perfectly  harmou- 


ilAbAJflA,   A01,IND.  401 


ized  theii  minus,  tiiough  the  Leart  of  neither  was 
toucheil.  Manon  regarded  him  as  a  superior  being — 
an  oracle  to  whom  she  was  willing  to  submit  her  judg- 
ment; while  he,  flattered  by  the  succumbing  of  her 
brilliant  mind  to  his,  regarded  her  with  placid  and  pa- 
ternal admiration. 

Upon  M.  Eoland's  departure  from  Paris,  he  left  with 
his  new  friend  voluminous  manuscripts  containing  a 
journal  of  recent  travels  in  Germany,  with  sage  reflec- 
tions that  rendered  them  doubly  interesting  to  Manon. 
In  their  perusal,  she  became  initiated  in  his  thoughts 
and  feelings  to  a  far  greater  extent  than  conversation 
could  ever  have  afforded  her.  Eighteen  months  elapsed 
before  they  met  again.  In  the  meantime,  Roland  trav- 
elled through  Italy,  Switzerland,  Sicily  and  Malta, 
writing  copious  notes  and  forwarding  them  at  regular 
intervals  to  Manon,  who  studied  them  with  an  avidity 
and  interest  that  prepared  her  to  hail  his  return  with 
joy  and  veneration  nearly  allied  to  worship.  Yet  there 
was  not  a  spark  of  love  glowing  in  her  bosom — it  was 
only  her  intellect  that  singled  him  out  from  the  rest  of 
the  world. 

Several  years  passed  in  friendly  correspondence,  or 
interviews,  during  which  they  discussed  political  re- 
forms, philosophy  and  science,  and  various  literary  pro- 
jects, with  a  frankness,  confidence  and  pleasure  that, 
before  they  were  aware  of  it,  each  became  necessary  to 
the  other's  happiness.  M.  Roland  at  length  declared 
his  attachment.  Manon  frankly  acknowledged  that 
she  esteemed  him  more  highly  than  any  one  she  ever 
met,  yet  her  circumstances  were  so  humble,  her  father's 


40^  MADAME  ROLAM). 


errors  would  be  a  source  of  disgrace  and  inortificativ^ii. 
and  the  well-known  pride  of  the  Roland  family,  who 
might  feel  dishonored  by  the  alliance,  were  reasons  for 
which  her  proud  spirit  shrank  from  a  union  otherwise 
unobjectionable.  M.  Roland  would  not  yield  to  these 
representations  and  finally  elicited  her  consent.  From 
that  moment  the  reliance,  trust,  and  affection  she  had 
not  known  since  her  mother's  death,  again  nestled  in 
her  heart  and  she  was  happy.  M.  Roland  returned  to 
Amiens  and  then  addressed  a  letter  to  her  father  to  ob- 
tain his  consent  to  their  marriage.  M.  Phlippon  re- 
plied in  an  insulting  tone  and  bluntly  refused  him. 
Manon  surprised  and  grieved,  immediately  wrote  to  her 
revered  friend  and  besought  him  to  think  no  more  of 
the  affair,  and  not  to  expose  himself  to  farther  affronts 
by  new  solicitations.  At  the  same  time  she  assured 
her  father  she  would  marry  no  one  else ;  secured  a 
small  remnant  of  her  mother's  fortune  and  retired  to 
the  same  convent  where  a  year  of  her  childhood  had 
passed. 

In  a  narrow  little  room,  close  under  the  roof  where 
the  snow  lay  piled  up,  or  the  rain  pattered  dismally ; 
without  a  companion,  obliged  to  live  with  the  strictest 
frugality,  with  no  friendly  voice  to  dispel  the  settled 
silence, — here  Manon  lived,  enjoying  a  peaceful,  quiet 
happiness,  in  the  midst  of  literary  labors,  that  no  mere 
seeker  of  pleasure  ever  found  in  the  delirious  whirl  of 
gayety,  or  in  luxurious  idleness.  The  comfortless  sur- 
roundings of  uncurtained  windows,  bare  floor,  dim 
light  and  scanty  fire,  could  not  depress  her  spirit,  but 
rather  lent  new  and  stronger  wings  to  an  imagination 


MADAME   ROLAND.  498 


that  continually  roamed  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  or  far 
back  into  bj^-gone  ages,  and  brought  therefrom  abun- 
dant lessons  to  revolve.  Disciplined  by  tlie  peculiar 
circumstances  of  her  life  aiid  accustomed  to  live  within 
berself,  she  Avas  least  alone  when  alone. 

She  daily  prepared  her  own  frugal  food  ;  never  went 
out  except  on  the  occasion  of  a  weekly  visit  to  her 
father's  house  to  mend  his  linen  and  to  have  a  care  for 
his  interests,  and  received  no  visitors  beside  one  of  the 
sisters  in  the  convent,  who  was  limited  to  an  hour  in 
the  evening.  Who  would  have  dreamed  in  passing 
•  the  quiet  convent  that  by  the  light  shining  dimly  from 
the  high  window  under  the  eaves,  sat  a  solitary  maiden 
unconsciously  pruning  her  intellect  for  a  bold,  patriotic 
appeal  that  was  to  shake  the  throne  of  France ;  un- 
knowingly preparing  herself  to  sway  the  deliberations 
of  statesmen,  and  destined  to  tread  in  stately  and  con- 
scious worth  the  halls  of  a  palace  !  She  lost  no  time 
in  useless  repinings,  but  applied  herself  vigorously  and 
diligently  to  the  cultivation  of  such  talents  as  God  had 
committed  to  her,  without  questioning  the  future,  dark 
and  gloomy  enough  to  her  lonely  eyes.  It  was  unfor- 
tunate that  she  had  no  guide  to  lead  her  out  of  the 
mazes  in  which  she  had  lost  her  way  after  rejecting 
the  Catholic  creed,  as  hollow  and  heartless,  with  the 
outward  forms  but  not  the  essence  of  spirituality. 
Yet  she  dared  reveal  her  doubts  to  no  one,  and  still 
preserved  outward  conformity  to  her  mother's  belief. 

Here  M.  Eoland  again  visited  her,  at  the  expiration 
of  five  or  six  months.  lie  presented  himself  at  the 
convent  one  day,  and  beheld  Manon's  pale  face  behind 


4:94  MADAME   ROLAND. 


the  grating,  which,  with  the  sweet  sound  of  her  voice, 
revived  the  affection  that  had  nearly  died  out  when  he 
ceased  to  think  of  her  as  his  intended  bride.  Touched 
by  her  lonely  condition  and  her  faithfulness  to  him,  he 
urgently  renewed  his  suit.  Manon  hesitated.  She  no 
'onger  cherished  the  romantic  love  with  which  she  re- 
garded him  at  their  last  parting,  and  her  pride  and 
vanity  were  wounded,  that  he  had  endured  a  refusal  he 
knew  to  be  against  her  inclination,  with  such  un-lover- 
like  apathy.  Farther  consideration,  however,  suggest- 
ed the  compliment  his  deliberate  decision  paid  her,  and 
the  sacrifice  of  family  considerations  his  renewed  offer 
implied.  Manon  no  longer  deliberated  ;  she  resolutely 
placed  her  hand  in  his,  and  though  more  intellect  than 
heart  went  with  it,  M,  Roland  was  satisfied  and  happy. 

Their  marriage  occurred  in  1780.  Manon,  still 
youthful  at  twenty-five,  was  at  length  wedded  to  an 
austere,  self-confident,  over-bearing  man,  twenty  years 
her  senior.  The  first  year  was  spent  in  Paris,  entirely 
occupied  in  the  preparation  of  a  work  on  the  arts,  in 
which  Madame  Roland  untiringly  assisted  her  husband. 
Her  only  recreation  was  attending  a  course  of  lectures 
on  natural  history  and  botany.  She  secluded  herself 
from  her  friends,  not  from  her  own  choice,  but  because 
her  imperious  husband  demanded  it ;  he  wished  to  ab- 
sorb her  attention  and  affection  entirely  in  himself 

The  succeeding  four  years  were  passed  at  Amiens, 
occupied  as  before  iii  literary  pursuits,  to  which 
Madame  Roland  lent  her  own  pen  with  a  brilliancy  of 
style  that  gave  an  additional  reputation  to  Roland's 
works.     The  birth  of  a  daughiei  di\  ided  hei  cares  and 


MADAME    ROLAND.  49c 


pursuits,  but  slie  had  become  so  indispensable  to  her 
husband,  that  for  the  sake  of  her  grateful  presence  he 
was  quite  ready  to  submit  to  the  mischievous  play  of 
little  fingers  among  his  books  and  papers.  The  sunny 
face  of  Eudora  peeping  out  from  her  long  flaxen  ring- 
lets, now  and  then  laughingly  thrust  between  her  fa- 
ther's face  and  his  endless  manuscripts,  did  much  towards 
softening  his  habitual  stermiess.  Madame  "Roland  too, 
centred  in  this  sweet  child  the  atfections  that  were  but 
rudely  and  selfishly  cherished  by  her  exacting  husband. 

It  was  in  the  course  of  this  stay  at  Amiens,  that  M. 
Roland  applied  for  letters  patent  of  nobility,  wishing  to 
resume  the  title  of  his  ancestry  now  that  his  wealth  was 
sufficient  to  support  such  rank.  His  wife  was  not  un- 
willing to  bear  the  gracious  title  of  Lady  Roland,  in 
spite  of  her  previous  contempt  of  titled  nobility  and 
meditations  upon  the  inequality  of  mankind.  It  was  a 
temptation,  neither  of  them  would  have  rejected,  had 
their  application  been  successful. 

In  1785  M.  Roland  removed  to  the  city  of  Lyons. 
The  family  occupied  a  winter  residence  in  town,  but 
passed  the  summers  upon  a  fine  paternal  estate  a  few 
miles  from  Lyons.  La  Plati5re  was  a  rural  retreat  ly- 
ing in  the  valley  of  the  Saone,  at  the  foot  of  the  moun- 
tains of  Beaujolais.  It  was  a  wild,  romantic  region,  in- 
tersected with  deep  gorges,  and  watered  by  impetuous 
torrents  that  leaped  and  foamed  down  the  mountain- 
sides, then  rushing  noisily  through  the  fertile  valley, 
swelled  the  wide- rolling  Saone  to  overflowing.  Fruitful 
vineyards  grew  purple  in  the  warm  sheltered  valley, 
and  the  smooth  green  meadows  were  dotted  with  flocks 


49(5  MADAME   ROLAND. 


of  white  sheep  guarded  by  shepherds.  In  the  midst 
of  these  meadows  and  vineyards  stretched  the  La 
Plati^re  farm,  with  its  sleek  cattle,  its  dove-cotes,  fish- 
ponds, gardens  and  groups  of  willows  with  their  long 
sweeping  boughs  and  tall  prim  poplars  shading  the 
solid  square  stone  house  and  its  numberless  outhouses. 
The  mansion,  spacious  and  airy,  had  nothing  to  recom- 
mend it  in  the  way  of  ornamental  architecture.  A 
plain  front,  the  roof  projecting  and  nearly  flat,  regular 
windows,  and  a  plain  portico  at  the  entrance,  told  more 
of  unpretending  comfort  than  taste  or  display. 

Madame  Roland,  accustomed  only  to  a  life  among 
brick  and  mortar,  regarded  La  Plati5re  with  enthusiastic 
admiration ;  she  could  scarcely  find  words  to  express 
her  joy  on  finding  herself  possessed  of  such  a  secluded, 
charming  retreat  as  she  had  often  pictured  in  her  dreams. 
But  every  cup  has  its  drop  of  gall.  M.  Roland's  mother 
and  brother  still  occupied  the  estate ;  one,  proud,  tyr- 
annical, and  possessing  the  enviable  characteristics  of  a 
shrew ;  the  other,  gruff,  coarse  and  surly,  kept  discord 
perpetually  awake.  The  mother's  turbulent  spirit  was 
soon  hushed  in  the  unregretted  sleep  of  death ;  an 
event  that  decided  the  Roland  family  to  occupy  their 
estate  throughout  the  year. 

Five  years  of  undisturbed  happiness  succeeded. 
Madame  Roland's  time  was  divided  between  the  sys- 
tematic regulation  of  domestic  duties,  the  education  of 
their  only  and  idolized  child  Eudora,  and  the  reception 
of  much  company,  attracted  by  the  scientific  celebrity 
of  M.  Roland.  Beside  all  these  time-consuming  de- 
mands, she  secured  two  hours  during  the  day  to  pass 


MADAME   ROLAin).  497 


m  her  husband's  study,  assisting  hira  in  his  literary 
pursuits  with  her  ready  and  popular  pen,  that  gained 
him  many  an  eulogium.  Happy  in  lending  her  talents 
to  secure  his  renown  rather  than  her  own,  and  capable 
of  an  entire  devotion  to  his  comfort  and  happiness, 
more  from  a  sense  of  duty  and  veneration  than  the 
promptings  of  love,  she  passed  those  five  years  in  an 
uninterrupted  tranquillity  that  seemed  a  rest  to  her  tried 
spirit,  a  preparation,  a  gathering  of  strength,  for  the 
tempestuous  life  that  followed. 

In  1790,  the  low  but  fearful  rumbhngs  of  the  political 
itorm  that  had  long  been  gathering  over  France,  boomed 
through  the  cities,  along  the  valleys,  echoed  through 
the  mountain  hamlets,  and  sounded  in  the  ears  of  those 
hidden  in  distant  and  obscure  retreats.  M.  Eoland  and 
his  wife,  aroused  at  the  welcome  tones  of  the  first  mur- 
murings  of  liberty,  hastened  to  Lyons  where  the  con- 
test had  arisen  with  powerful  excitement.  Madame 
Roland's  saloons  were  thrown  open,  and  the  most  promi- 
nent of  the  revolutionary  party  gathered  there  to  discuss 
the  principles  to  be  adopted.  Madame  Roland  engaged 
in  their  councils,  guided  their  decisions  by  eloquent  and 
burning  words  that  fell  from  her  lips  with  irresistible 
fascination;  her  ardor  stimulated  their  zeal,  her  im- 
passioned appeals  fired  them  with  new  and  daring 
eftbrts  to  shake  off  the  oppressive  yoke  of  kingly  aris 
tocracy.  Thus  conspicuously  arrayed  against  the  roy- 
alists, M.  Roland's  name  was  upon  every  lip,  with  praises 
on  one  side,  and  bitter  denunciations  on  the  other— a 
hostility  that  nerved  his  wife  with  a  stronger  enthusiasm 

32 


498  MADAME   ROLAND. 


and  absorbed  all  the  powers  of  her  indefatigable  mind 
in  the  one  idea  and  aim  of  universal  freedom. 

Louis  XVI.,  irresolute  and  yielding,  attempted  to 
conciliate  the  stormy  populace  and  to  avert  the  accumu- 
lating vengeance  of  years  from  his  devoted  head.  But 
the  iniquities  of  his  predecessors  and  the  surrounding 
nobility  were  destined  to  be  visited  on  this  monarch 
too  weak,  too  undiscerning,  to  arrest  the  furious  pas 
sions  he  blindly  tampered  with.  To  appease  the  multi 
tude  he  convened  the  National  Assembly.  This  body 
consisted  of  the  nobility,  the  higher  clergy  and  represen 
tati  ves  from  all  parts  of  the  nation.  M.  Eoland,  the  favor 
iteand  leading  man  of  the  revolutionary  party  in  the  city 
of  Lyons,  was  elected  their  representative,  by  a  large  ma- 
jority. On  the  20th  of  February  1791,  he  repaired  to 
Paris  with  his  wife,  who  a  few  years  before  sat  a  home- 
less obscure  maiden  in  a  desolate  garret,  but'  now  bril- 
liant, wealthy,  and  influential,  was  the  worshipped 
heroine  of  the  republican  party.  She  daily  attended  the 
sittings  of  the  Assembly  and  listened  with  intense  interest 
to  the  exciting  debates.  The  refined  and  courtly  bearing, 
the  polished  and  cultivated  language  of  the  royalists, 
struck  her  favorably  in  contrast  with  the  course  ple- 
beian manners,  and  illiterate  speech  of  the  democrats, 
but  though  her  tastes  would  have  inclined  her  to  the 
former,  the  latter  involved  her  principles,  and  the  con- 
trast only  served  to  increase  her  ardent  wish  for  the 
education  and  refinement  of  the  lower  classes. 

Before  the  close  of  the  first  sitting  of  the  Assembly 
the  nobility  were  vanquished,  and  the  royal  family 
were  compelled  to  aliandon  their  palaces  at  Versailles 


MADAME    ROLAND.  499 


and  remain  in  Paris.  The  contest  assumed  a  new 
phase,  being  sustained  between  the  Girondists  and  Jaco- 
bins, one  party  intent  upon  the  preservation  of  the 
throne,  limited  in  its  power  by  a  free  constitution,  the 
other  fiercely  bent  upon  the  overthrow  of  the  altar,  the 
throne,  the  distinctions  of  nobility,  and  every  barrier 
that  prevented  the  entire  equalitj-  of  all  classes.  M. 
Roland  and  his  wife  zealously  supported  the  former. 
The  leading  and  most  intelligent  of  the  Girondists  as- 
sembled four  evenings  in  the  week,  at  the  house  of 
M.  Roland,  attracted  by  his  integrity  and  calm  deliber- 
ate wisdom,  as  well  as  by  the  more  fascinating  con- 
versational powers  of  his  brilliant  wife,  to  whose  opin- 
ions they  paid  the  most  sincere  and  flattering  deference. 
Among  those  who  frequented  her  saloons,  was  a 
young  lawyer  of  repulsive  appearance,  stupid  and 
awkward,  possessed  of  an  obstinate  temper,  utterly 
devoid  of  sensitiveness,  caring  as  little  for  applause  as 
the  hisses  of  contempt  with  which  his  long,  dry 
speeches  were  invariably  received  in  the  Assembly. 
Madame  Roland  alone  discovered  genius  in  the  sullen, 
moody  young  man.  She  saw  the  energy,  the  rock- 
like fixedness  of  purpose,  the  hatred  of  luxury  and 
aristocracy,  that  would  make  him  a  favorite  with  the 
multitude,  and  feeling  him  to  be  a  dangerous  enemy, 
yet  not  a  friend  to  be  trusted,  she  welcomed  him  to 
her  circle  more  from  policy  than  choice.  He  listened 
entranced  to  the  eloquent  voice  and  clear  reasoning  of 
the  intrepid  Afadame  Roland  and  bowed  in  awe  to  her 
high-souled  principles,  yet  was  ready  to  aim  a  deadly 
blow  at  them  and  at  her  who  gave  them  utterance. 


600  MADAME    ROLAND. 


when  ambition  or  interest  suggested.     This  was  Rohes 
pierre. 

Abbott  says  of  his  admiration  of  that  accomphshed 
woman,  "  He  studied  Madame  Eoland  with  even  more 
of  stoical  apathy,  than  another  man  would  study  a 
book  which  he  admires.  Tbe  next  day  he  would  give 
utterance  in  the  Assembly,  not  only  to  the  sentiments 
but  even  to  the  very  words  and  phrases  which  he  had 
carefully  garnered  from  the  exuberant  diction  of  his 
eloquent  instructress.  Occasionally,  every  eye  would 
be  riveted  upon  him,  and  every  ear  attentive,  as  he 
gave  utterance  to  some  lofty  sentiment,  in  impassioned 
language,  which  had  been  heard  before,  in  sweeter 
tones,  from  more  persuasive  hps."  On  one  occasion, 
in  the  early  part  of  his  career,  having  laid  himself  un- 
der the  displeasure  of  the  multitude  and  exposed  to 
accusation  from  the  Assembly,  Madame  Eoland  found 
him  a  place  of  securit}^,  and  plead  for  him  with  an  in- 
fluential member  of  the  Assembly,  till  his  defence  was 
promised.  Kobespierre  escaped  to  become  the  assassin 
of  his  benefactors. 

In  September  1791,  flie  Assembly  was  dissolved  and 
M.  Roland  and  his  wife  retired  from  Paris.  The  two 
or  three  months  of  seclusion  that  succeeded,  rather  in- 
spired them  for  new  efforts,  than  made  them  forget  the 
perils  of  France.  A  new  Assembly  convened  in  No- 
vember, and  though  the  previous  members  could  hot 
be  re-elected,  M.  and  Madame  Roland  determined  to 
return  to  Paris  and  share  the  danger  and  excitement 
daily  increasing  in  the  metropolis.  The  most  influen- 
tial and  learned  men  from  all  parts  of  the  nation  gath- 


MADAME    KOLAND.  501 


ered  there  to  watch  the  shaping  of  events  that  every 
moment  assumed  a  more  threatening  aspect.  Clubs 
were  formed  to  discuss  the  momentous  questions  of 
the  times,  and  every  evening  various  private  saloons 
were  the  scenes  of  exciting  and  intensely  interesting 
debate. 

The  position  and  influence  of  the  Rolands  is  thus 
described.  "  M.  Eoland  was  grave,  taciturn,  oracular. 
He  had  no  brilliance  of  talent  to  excite  envy.  He  dis- 
played no  ostentation  in  dress,  or  equipage,  or  manners, 
to  provoke  the  desire  in  others  to  humble  him.  His 
reputation  for  stoical  virtue  gave  a  wide  sweep  to  his 
influence.  His  very  silence  invested  him  with  a  mys- 
terious wisdom.  Consequently,  no  one  feared  him  as 
a  rival,  and  he  was  freely  thrust  forward  as  the  unob- 
jectionable head  of  a  party  by  all  who  hoped  through 
him  to  promote  their  own  interests.  He  was  what  we 
call  in  America  an  available  candidate.  Madame  Ro- 
land, on  the  contrary,  was  animated  and  brilliant. 
Her  genius  was  universally  admired.  Her  bold  sugges- 
tions, her  shrewd  counsel,  her  lively  repartee,  her  ca- 
pability of  cutting  sarcasm,  rarely  exercised,  her  deep 
and  impassioned  benevolence,  her  unvarying  cheerful- 
ness, the  sincerity  and  enthusiasm  of  her  philanthropy, 
and  the  unrivalled  brilliance  of  her  conversational  pow- 
ers, made  her  the  centre  of  a  system  around  which  the 
brightest  intellects  were  revolving.  Yerginaud,  Petion, 
Brissot,  and  others  whose  names  were  then  compara- 
tively unknown,  but  whose  fame  has  since  resounded 
through  the  civilized  world,  loved  to  do  her  homage." 

With  such  elements  of  popularity,  it  is  not  surprising 


502  MADAME   ROLAND. 


that  they  were  elevated  to  a  position  in  which  the  pris- 
oner king  was  obhged  to  place  them  to  appease  the 
stormy  populace.  Murders  were  nightly  committed, 
the  terrified  nobles  were  hastily  escaping  with  their 
families,  confusion  and  death  -reigned  everywhere. 
There  was  no  expedient  left  the  monarch,  but  to  accede 
to  the  demands  of  the  people,  dismiss  his  ministry,  and 
replace  it  by  Kepublican  candidates.  M.  Roland  was 
immediately  selected  by  the  Girondists  as  Minister  of 
the  Interior,  a  post  scarcely  inferior  to  the  crown  itself, 
and  especially  elevated  at  this  moment  when  only  the 
shadow  of  authority  remained  with  the  king. 

M.  Roland  and  his  wife  immediately  occupied  the 
palace  which  had  been  the  recipient  of  Neckar  but  a 
short  time  before,  and  furnished  by  him  with  regal 
splendor.  At  last- the  scornful  Manon  was  the  mistress 
of  one  of  those  magnificent  palaces,  was  elevated  to  an 
equality  with  kings  and  princes,  and  rolled  through  the 
thoroughfares  of  Paris  in  one  of  the  very  gilded  coaches 
that  had  excited  her  childish  contempt.  Madame  Ro- 
land however  was  in  a  position  that  rightly  belonged 
to  her,  and  which  she  filled  with  unaffected  grace  and 
dignity.  She  found  fall  scope  for  her  abundant  talents, 
so  assiduously  cultivated  in  her  youth,  and  opportu- 
nity for  the  magnanimous  exercise  of  her  forgiving  and 
generous  temper. 

On  one  occasion,  after  leaving  her  elegant  dining- 
hall,  where  she  had  entertained  the  greatest  men  in 
France,  she  found  in  the  saloon  an  old  man,  who, 
with  profound  respect,  begged  an  interview  with  the 
Minister  of  the  Interior.     She  discovered  in  him  a 


MADAME   ROLAND.  503 


haughty  aristocrat,  who  many  years  before  had  humil- 
iated her  proud  spirit,  by  leaving  her,  on  the  occasion 
of  a  visit,  to  dine  with  the  menials.  She  exulted  in 
her  own  thoughts  at  the  reversed  position  in  which 
they  now  stood,  but  generously  restrained  any  mani 
fcstation  of  her  triumph. 

From  all  the  splendid  apartments  of  the  palace, 
Madame  Eoland  selected  a  small,  retired  room,  fur- 
nished as  a  library,  and  where  she  spent  nearly  all  her 
time.  Here  gathered  the  influential  members  of  the 
Assembly,  discussing  the  momentous  affairs  of  state, 
occasionally  turning  to  consult  her,  while  she  sat  at  a 
little  distance  at  a  small  work-table,  occupied  with  her 
needle  or  pen.  Uere  she  wrote  the  proclamations,  the 
state  pa})ers,  and  tlie  letters  which  were  presented  to 
the  King  and  Assembly  in  M.  Roland's  name,  securing 
to  him  the  enthusiastic  admiration  alone  due  to  her- 
self. 

The  Jacobin  party  were  every  day  increasing  in 
strength,  and  ready  to  pour  from  the  cellars  and 
haunts  of  vice  with  which  Paris  was  thronged,  num 
berless  advocates  of  their  ferocious  measures.  The 
king  had  already  been  insulted  in  his  palace  by  the 
mob.  The  royalists  had  fled  to  Coblentz,  and  were 
preparing  to  march  with  the  Prussian  army  to  reinstate 
the  French  monarch ;  a  movement  which  filled  both 
the  Girondists  and  Jacobins  with  alarm.  Louis,  irreso- 
lute and  vacillating,  took  no  decided  measures.  He 
endeavored  to  conciliate  all  parties,  and  thus  gained 
the  confidence  and  support  of  none.  At  this  crisis, 
Madame  Roland,  in  behalf  of  the  Girondists  and  in 


504  MADAME   ROLAND. 


the  name  of  the  minister,  addressed  a  bold  and  elo- 
quent letter  to  the  king,  demanded  him  to  proclaim 
war  against  the  emigrants,  and  take  instant  measures 
to  prevent  their  meditated  attack,  in  union  with  the 
Prussians,  upon  Paris.  By  thus  co-operating  with  the 
Girondists,  his  crown  might  be  saved,  though  his  power 
would  be  limited  ;  while,  if  he  opposed  them,  his 
downfall  and  horrible  anarchy  must  ensue.  The  letter, 
written  with  glowing  and  impassioned  eloquence,  was 
given  by  M.  Roland  to  the  king  on  the  11th  of  June, 
1792.  Its  proposed  decree  was  too  unpalatable  to  the 
monarch,  the  truth  which  it  contained  too  plain  for 
the  royal  ear.  He  commented  upon  it  by  peremptorily 
dismissing  M.  Roland  from  office. 

"  Here  am  I  dismissed  from  office,"  exclaimed  the 
deposed  minister  to  his  wife  on  entering  her  library. 
"  Present  your  letter  to  the  Assembly,  that  the  nation 
may  see  for  what  counsel  you  have  been  dismissed," 
replied  the  intrepid  Madame  Roland.  The  letter  was 
presented.  It  received  unbounded  applause  from  the 
Assembly,  and  was  ordered  to  be  printed  and  scattered 
throughout  every  department  in  France.  It  was  a  fire 
brand  thrown  among  combustibles.  The  rapturous  ap- 
plause of  millions  followed  the  hero  to  the  obscure  re- 
treat which  Madame  Roland  selected  in  a  retired  street 
of  the  metropohs.  But  here  they  were  sought  out  aad 
their  apartments  thronged  with  the  admiring  adherents 
of  both  parties. 

The  Girondists,  now  no  longer  willing  to  support  the 
king,  openly  proposed  the  establishment  of  a  republic. 
Danger  hourly  increased.     The  populace  ineen^se/i  at 


MADAME   ROLAND,  505 


the  removal  of  M.  Roland,  attacked  the  Tuileries,  in- 
sulted the  monarch  and  the  royal  family,  and  in  every 
possible  way  vented  their  rage  and  hatred.  Louis  was 
obliged  to  consent  to  the  reinstatement  of  the  republi- 
can minister,  and  again  M.  Eoland  and  his  wife  occu- 
pied the  magnificent  palace  from  which  they  had  sud- 
denly been  expelled. 

The  arrest  and  imprisonment  of  Louis  XVI.  soon 
after,  caused  M.  Eoland  to  send  in  his  resignation  to 
the  Assembly,  since  the  office  he  held  was  virtually 
annulled.  He  could  now  have  escaped  with  his  wife 
from  the  frightful  scenes  daily  enacting  in  the  streets 
of  Paris,  but  her  courageous  spirit  would  not  recoil 
from  danger  or  death,  so  long  as  a  hope  remained  of 
rescuing  France  from  threatened  anarchy. 

The  rapid  approach  of  the  Prussian  army  terrified  all 
parties.  The  Jacobins,  having  obtained  the  ascendency 
of  power  in  Paris,  and  determined  to  save  themselves 
from  the  vengeance  of  the  advancing  army,  ordered 
every  man  in  Paris  capable  of  bearing  arms,  to  prepare 
to  advance  to  the  frontiers  and  repulse  the  emigrant 
royalists  and  their  allies.  In  order  to  ensui'e  this  de- 
cree, and  to  rid  themselves  of  all  who  were  secretly 
ready  to  fall  upon  them  when  encouraged  by  the  neai 
approach  of  the  array,  tne  gates  of  Paris  were  closed, 
and  at  night  every  house  n  the  metropolis  was  entered 
by  parties  of  Jacobins,  its  apartments  and  most  secret 
recesses  searched,  victims  dragged  forth  from  every 
possible  place  of  concealment  and  horribly  murdered. 
Every  one  who  gave  the  slightest  suspicion  of  favoring 
the  royalists  were  instantly  put  to  death.     The  iuno 


506  MADAME   ROLAND. 


cent  and  guilty  perished  together.  Homes  were  del- 
aged  with  the  blood  of  helpless  and  innocent  victims, 
Fathers  perished  with  their  helpless  children,  beautiful 
women  were  dragged  to  the  guillotine,  the  prisons  were 
crowded  with  trembling  victims,  who  were  one  after 
another  beheaded  in  the  court-yards,  till  the  pavements 
ran  with  blood.  Fiends,  thirsting  for  the  hearts'  blood 
of  both  friend  and  foe,  prowled  through  the  streets, 
sheathing  their  daggers  in  human  flesh  at  every  step. 
This  frightful  massacre  continued  till  every  royalist 
had  fallen. 

And  now  the  phrensied  Jacobins  fixed  their  bloody 
fangs  upon  the  Girondists.  A  fierce  struggle  for  su- 
premacy in  the  Convention  ensued.  It  was  more  than 
a  political  reaching  after  power — more  than  patriotic 
fervor  that  inspired  the  eloquent  addresses  at  the  trib- 
une— it  was  a  struggle  for  life.  One  party  or  the 
other  must  lay  their  heads  beneath  the  axe.  The 
Jacobins  attempted  to  strike  a  deadly  blow  at  the  Gi- 
rondists, by  bringing  an  accusation  against  their  inspi- 
ring genius — Madame  Koland.  A  spy  was  employed 
to  ingratiate  himself  in  her  confidence  and  by  pervert- 
ing her  expressions,  obtain  her  accusation  and  bring 
her  to  the  scaffold.  She  quickly  penetrated  his  designs 
and  scornfully  repulsed  his  friendship.  He  however 
charged  her  with  carrying  en  a  secret  correspondence 
with  exiled  royahsts,  and  she  was  summoned  before 
the  tribunal. 

A  vast  assemblage  awaited  the  entrance  of  the  wo- 
man whose  fame  had  sounded  thioughout  Europe,  and 
■Arhose  influence  had  so  strongly  wielded  the  Assembly. 


MADAME     ROLAND.  507 


Every  one  was  finxious  and  curious  to  behold  the  won- 
derful being  who,  i-etainiug  a  feminine  seclusion,  yet 
breathed  through  manly  lipa  a  thrilling  patriotism 
worthy  of  a  Koman  orator.  At  the  instant  she  ap- 
peared a  respectful  silence  pervaded  the  assemblage. 
Old  men  and  young,  friend  and  enemy,  even  Robes- 
pierre and  Marat,  watched  with  undisguised  admira- 
tion the  majestic  bearing,  yet  womanly  loveliness  and 
modesty,  with  which  this  noble  woman  advanced  and 
stood  before  the  bar.  Her  replies  to  the  president 
were  full  of  dignity  and  frankness,  uttered  in  sweet 
clear  tones  that  fell  with  a  magical  effect  upon  the 
listeners.  Every  answer  exposed  more  clearly  the 
villany  and  falsehood  of  her  accuser,  and  when  she 
tremulously  began  her  own  defence,  gathering  courage 
as  she  spoke,  till  the  eloquence  and  fervor  of  her  ex- 
alted spirit  was  showered  in  words  of  fire  upon  the 
Assembly,  there  was  not  an  eye  but  was  riveted  upon 
her,  not  an  ear  but  strove  to  catch  every  syllable  that 
fell  from  her  lips.  They  sat  silent  and  entranced,  and 
when  her  voice  ceased,  shouts  of  approval  rose  on 
every  side.  She  was  acquitted  both  by  friend  and  foe, 
and  even  the  heartless  bloodhound  whose  life  she  had 
saved,  and  who  was  soon  to  drag  her  to  the  scaffold, 
could  not  withhold  a  smile  of  approval  and  admiration 
as  she  glided  triumphantly  from  among  them. 

Four  or  five  months  of  turmoil,  of  hatred,  of  fright- 
ful anarchy,  heightened  the  unbridled  and  murderous 
passions  of  the  populace.  The  Jacobins  governed  tJie 
Assembly,  the  mob  governed  the  Jacobins.  The  de- 
liberations of  the  Couventiou  were  guided  by  the  thou- 


508  MADAME   ROLAND. 


sands  of  assassins  who,  with  upheld  daggers,  crowded 
the  lobbies,  and  surrounded  the  building  in  hoarse  tu- 
mult. The  death  of  Louis  XVI.  was  demanded,  and 
in  the  midst  of  an  exciting  scene  every  Girondist  was 
obliged  to  ascend  the  tribune  and  pronounce  "  deatli'^ 
upon  the  king,  or  feel  the  cold  steel  sliding  quickly 
into  his  own  heart.  This  submission  did  not  cool  the 
unquenchable  hatred  of  the  mob.  Conspiracies  were 
repeatedly  formed  to  assassinate  the  Girondists,  at  one 
moment  almost  beneath  the  gleaming  weapons  in  the 
Convention,  at  another  roused  only  in  time  to  bar  their 
doors  against  creeping  demons,  waiting  the  stroke  of  a 
certain  hour  to  plunge  the  deadly  knife  in  their 
bosoms. 

Madame  Roland,  exposed  to  the  execrations  of  the 
populace  because  of  her  well-known  position  among 
the  Girondists,  was  entreated  to  seek  safety.  Some  de- 
voted friends  brought  her  the  dress  of  a  peasant  girl, 
urging  her  to  assume  the  disguise  and  fly  with  her 
daughter,  that  her  husband  might  follow  her  unencum- 
bered. But  she  spurned  to  save  herself  thus.  Throw- 
ing the  dress  from  her,  she  exclaimed,  "  I  am  ashamed 
to  resort  to  any  such  expedient.  I  will  neither  dis- 
guise myself,  nor  make  any  attempt  at  secret  escape. 
My  enemies  may  find  me  always  in  my  place.  If  I  am 
assassinated,  it  shall  be  in  my  own  home.  I  owe  my 
country  an  example  of  firmness  and  I  will  give  it." 

At  M.  Roland's  resignation,  they  had  again  retired 
to  an  obscure  dwelling  in  the  Rue  de  la  Harpe.  Here 
in  h.  solitary  room  they  still  received  the  agitated  sup- 
porters of  the  Republic,  in  vain  attempting  to  devise 


MADAME   ROLAND,  509 


measures  to  stem  the  overwhelming  tide  dehiging 
Frnnce,  and  gradually  circling  into  a  dizzy  whirlpool 
Ihat  was  finally  to  engulph  both  the  assassin  and  the 
\rictim.  Each  day  the  circles  grew  narrower  and  swifter. 
and  the  Girondists  unable  to  escape  from  a  vortex  bear- 
ing them  on  to  certain  death,  could  only  fortify  them- 
selves to  meet  it  heroically. 

On  the  morning  of  the  31st  of  May,  1793,  a  driving 
rolling  mist  darkened  the  streets  of  Paris.  Crowds  of 
demoniac  men,  howling  women  and  reckless,  blood- 
thirsty boys,  blocked  up  the  thoroughfares,  adding 
their  shouts  and  imprecations  to  the  dismal  tolling  of 
bells,  booming  cannons,  and  the  melancholy  sound  of 
the  tocsin.  The  rush  and  the  roar,  rolled  ominously 
through  the  convulsed  city.  "  Ilia  suprema  dies,"  it  is 
our  last  day,  exclaimed  one  of  the  illustrious  Girondists, 
and  he  said  it  with  truth.  Madame  Roland  and  her 
husband  remained  in  their  soUtary  room  listening  in 
sickening  suspense  to  the  sounds  borne  even  to  their 
distant  retreat,  not  daring  to  venture  into  the  streets, 
where  their  appearance  would  be  the  sure  signal  of 
death.  Friends  brought  them  tidings  of  events  du- 
ring that  dreadful  day.  The  clouds,  that  had  hung 
gloomily  over  the  city  since  morning,  gathered  in  an 
early  twihght.  M.  Roland  sat  gloomy,  unnerved  and 
despairing,  while  his  courageous  wife,  whom  danger 
never  intimidated,  spoke  cheerfully  and  hopefully  even 
in  these  hours  of  terror  ;  but  her  words  were  suddenly 
checked  by  the  sound  of  brutal  voices  and  stumbling 
heavy  footsteps  ascending  the  dark  stairway.  In  an- 
other moment  six  armed   men  noisily  burst  into  the 


510  MADAME    ROLAND. 


apartment,  and  advancing  towards  M.  Roland,  showed 
him  a  warrant  for  his  arrest  in  the  name-  of  the  Con- 
vention. "  I  do  not  recognize  the  authority  of  your 
warrant,  and  shall  not  voluntarily  follow  you,"  said 
he  to  the  officer.  The  leader  replied  that  he  had 
no  orders  to  exercise  violence  and  should  return  his 
answer  to  the  Council,  leaving  a  guard  to  secure  his 
person. 

Far  from  being  overcome  with  womanly  fears,  at  this 
near  approach  of  their  enemies,  Madame  Eoland  was 
strengthened  with  fresh  heroism.  She'  immediately  sat 
down  and  rapidly  penned  a  glowing  letter  to  the  Con- 
vention, ordered  a  coach,  left  a  friend  with  her  husband, 
and  drove  speedilj'^  to  the  Tuileries  where  the  Assembly 
was  engaged  in  riotous  debate.  A  dense  and  murmur- 
ing crowd  filled  the  gardens  and  the  courts,  rendering 
access  almost  impossible.  Undaunted,  she  forced  her 
way  through,  approached  the  sentinels  who  guarded 
the  doors,  and  asked  admission.  It  was  refused.  An 
instant's  thought  suggested  a  deception.  Assuming  the 
tone  of  the  Jacobins,  she  assured  them  she  had  impor- 
tant notes  for  the  president  that  would  admit  of  no  de- 
lay in  times  when  traitors  threatened  the  restoration  of 
a  monarchy.  The  sentinel  immediately  permitted  her 
to  pass.  Another  sentinel  was  stationed  at  the  door  of 
an  inner  passage.  "  I  wish  to  see  one  of  the  messen- 
gers of  the  House,"  said  she.  "Wiiit  till  one  comes 
out,"  was  the  surly  reply.  Fifteen  minutes  passed  that 
seemed  hours  to  the  impatient,  anxious  wife.  At 
length  she  descried  a  messenger  to  whom  she  gave  ihe 
letter,  and  it  was  immediately  delivered  to  the  presi- 


MADAME   ROLAND.  611 


dent.  A  long  hour  passed,  yet  Madame  Eolaiid  still 
stood  at  the  entrance,  watching  with  painful  interest 
every  face  that  came  from  among  the  excited  Assem- 
bly, hoping  for  tidings  of  her  husband's  release  in  reply 
to  her  appeal.  But  no  message  came,  and  at  length 
unable  longer  to  endure  suspense,  she  sent  for  one  of 
the  principal  Girondists,  and  besought  him  to  gain  her 
admission  to  the  bar  that  she  might  speak  in  defence  of 
her  husband  and  her  friends.  "  The  Convention  has 
lost  all  power.  Your  words  can  do  no  good.  Vio- 
lence, noise,  and  confusion  fill  the  House,"  replied  Vei- 
ginaud. 

Madame  Koland  abandoned  the  hope,  and  leavmj} 
her  letter  to  speak  the  words  she  would  eloquentl}' 
have  uttered,  promised  herself  to  return  in  two  hours, 
and  hastily  sought  her  home  again  to  assure  herself 
-of  her  husband's  safety.  Upon  entering  her  apart- 
ments, M.  Eoland  and  the  guards  were  nowhere  to  be 
seen.  Alarmed,  she  inquired  and  searched,  till  she 
found  M.  Roland  had  escaped  the  vigilance  of  his 
keepers,  and  was  concealed  in  the  house  of  a  friend. 
Finding  him  at  last,  and  inspiring  him  with  new  cour- 
age as  her  own  revived,  she  again  parted  from  him  and 
returned  to  the  Tuileries,  though  the  midnight  bell 
had  tolled.  The  streets  were  brilliantly  illuminated, 
but  silent  and  deserted  ;  the  palace  and  the  Assembly 
rooms  were  vacant ;  a  quiet  and  gloomy  mystery  rest- 
ed upon  the  place  that  a  few  hours  before  had  been 
crowded  with  a  mass  of  human  beings  swaying  to  and 
fro  with  the  passions  of  demons  grasping  for  new  vic- 
tims.    Foreboding  some   new  and  horrible  calamity, 


512  MADAME   ROLAND. 


she  turned  from  tlie  palace,  blazing  with  lights,  and 
traversed  the  streets  till  the  shouts  and  uproar  of  the 
maddened  voices  of  a  countless  multitude  reached  her 
ear.  A  nearer  approach  revealed  the  twenty-two  Gir- 
ondists of  the  Assembly  guarded  and  driven  before 
the  mob  with  threatened  violence  towards  the  dun- 
geons of  the  Conciergerie,  Enough  1  Madame  Roland 
knew  at  a  glance  her  own  fate,  and  the  doom  of  all  she 
loved. 

A  moment's  delay  at  the  Louvre  to  consult  with  a 
friend  some  means  for  her  husband's  escape,  and  she 
sped  back  to  her  own  home,  penned  a  hasty  letter  to 
M,  Roland,  then  sat  quietly  to  scan  the  day's  events 
and  see  the  extent  of  her  own  danger.  Bold,  heroic, 
and  energetic,  she  had  preserved  her  cheerfulness  and 
hope  to  this  moment,  but  the  remembrance  of  her  fugi- 
tive husband  and  a  glance  at  her  sleeping  child  resting^ 
innocently  and  securely  upon  her  mother's  pillow, 
brought  with  a  sharp  pang  the  thought  of  leaving  the 
idolized  Eudora  an  orphan.  Her  courage  was  gone ; 
she  threw  herself  beside  the  sweet  sleeper,  threw  back 
the  bright  ringlets  that  clustered  round  the  child's  rosy 
face,  kissed  it  with  clinging  love  and  wept  such  tears  as 
she  had  never  shed  before.  Exhausted  with  grief  and 
fatigue  she  fell  into  a  deep  slumber,  with  her  child 
closely  clasped  in  her  arms.  It  was  a  mother's  last 
dear  embrace.  Just  as  the  dawn  of  a  cheerless  cloudy 
morning  stole  through  the  curtained  window's,  the  rush 
and  tramp  of  many  feet,  the  clattering  of  steel  weapons 
and  clubs,  and  the  hoarse  bowlings  of  a  debauched 
multitude  aroused  Madame  Roland  in  time  to  meet  at 


MADAME  POLAND.  518 


the  door  the  rough  leaders  who  immediately  announced 
her  arrest.  No  tears,  not  a  word  of  supplication  es- 
caped her  lips.  She  calmly  pressed  a  farewell  kiss 
upon  the  lips  of  her  child,  committed  her  to  a  friend, 
spoke  cheerfully  to  the  weeping  servants,  and  followed 
the  officers  with  a  heroic  and  defiant  dignity  that  eli- 
cited their  respect  and  protection.  To  secure  her  from 
the  insults  of  the  mob,  one  of  the  officers  kindly  pro- 
posed to  close  the  windows  of  the  carriage.  "  No," 
she  replied  ;  "  oppressed  innocence  should  not  assume 
the  attitude  of  crime  and  shame.  I  do  not  fear  the 
looks  of  honest  men,  and  I  brave  those  of  my  enemies." 
She  calmly  and  pityingly  gazed  upon  the  passionate 
and  distorted  countenances  of  the  crowd  that  pressed 
about  the  carriage  with  threatening  words  and  ges- 
tures ;  they  fell  back,  awed  at  her  fearless  bearing,  and 
let  her  pass  unmolested. 

The  iron  doors,  bolts  and  bars  of  the  Abbay6  prison 
closed  upon  Madame  Roland.  A  bare,  comfortless 
room,  dimly  lighted  by  a  high,  narrow,  grated  window 
through  which  the  damp,  chilly  air  crept,  was  given 
her  in  lieu  of  her  own  home.  Nothing  broke  the 
cheerless  aspect  of  this  gloomy  cell.  A  straw  pallet 
lay  in  one  corner  close  to  the  cold,  mouldy  walls,  but 
without  uttering  a  word  of  complaint  the  undaunted 
prisoner  laid  herself  down  upon  the  humble  couch  and 
fell  into  a  deep,  dreamless  slumber. 

But  a  few  days  passed  before  the  jailer  and  his  kind- 
hearted  wife  were  fascinated  with  the  cheerful  cordiality, 
the  winning,  gentle  manners,  and  heroic  endurance  of 
the  new  prisoner.  They  willingly  aided  her  in  givin^^ 
33 


514  MADAME  ROLAND. 


the  cell  an  air  of  taste  and  comfort.  At  first  a  little 
table  appeared,  and  another  day  the  jailer's  wife  came 
in  smiling  and  full  of  mystery  with  something  conceal- 
ed under  her  wide  apron.  Suddenly  the  table  waa 
decorated  and  brightened  with  a  neat,  white  spread, 
and  the  good  little  woman  hastened  away  pleased  and 
proud  with  Madame  Roland's  rewarding  expressions 
of  surprise  and  pleasure.  Then  came  books  ;  writing 
materials  quickly  followed,  and  lastly  fresh,  beautiful 
flowers  bloomed  in  the  grated  window  of  her  cell. 

Four  months  passed  away  and  the  beginning  of  the 
fifth,  found  Madame  Roland  cheerful  and  contented, 
strong  and  resolute  as  when  she  graced  the  elegant 
saloons  of  a  palace-home.  Satisfied  and  happy  that 
her  husband  had  escaped,  at  rest  in  regard  to  her 
child,  safely  asylumned  with  a  friend,  and  hoping  for 
the  near  approach  of  the  nation's  tranquillity  and  her 
consequent  release,  she  lost  not  a  moment  in  repinings 
or  useless  tears.  Occupied  with  her  books,  or  sketch- 
ing the  scenery  of  La  Plati^re  and  other  places  distinct 
and  dear  in  remembrance,  or  writing  her  memoirs,  she 
scarcely  lived  at  all  in  the  damp,  dark  cell.  Her  busy 
imagination  was  continually  on  the  wing,  and  when 
recalled  to  her  loneliness  and  imprisonment,  by  the 
entrance  of  the  keeper  with  her  coarse  fare,  she  felt 
no  gloom,  shed  no  tears,  but  kindly  greeted  him  and 
partook  of  the  untempting  food,  spread  upon  a  rusty 
Btove  to  preserve  the  little  table  unsoiled,  with  as 
much  liveliness  and  grace  as  if  she  presided  at  the 
splendid  dining-table  of  the  Minister  of  the  Interior. 
She  might  have  possessed  herself  of  some   luxuiies, 


MADAME   ROLAND.  515 


but  choosing  rather  to  relieve  her  fellow-sufferers,  she 
distributed  her  money  among  them  to  obtain  necessary 
comforts. 

One  day  two  commissioners  entered  her  cell  to  ex- 
tort from  her  if  pos.-  ible,  the  secret  of  her  husband's 
retreat,  since  all  Paris  and  its  environs  had  been  dili- 
gently searched  for  the  fugitive  minister.  She  scorned 
to  dissimulate  and  told  them  plainly  she  knew  the 
place  of  his  concealment,  but  nothing  on  earth  could 
induce  her  to  betray  him ;  she  spurned  them  from  her. 
From  first  to  last  Madame  Eoland's  defiant  heroism 
cost  her  liberty  and  life.  Her  contemptuous  treatment 
of  these  Jacobin  inquisitors  determined  her  fate.  She 
was  too  illustrious,  too  eloquent,  too  fearless  a  woman 
to  be  suffered  to  live,  but  it  was  necessary  to  convict 
her  on  a  new  charge  in  order  to  bring  her  to  the  scaf- 
fold. 

The  following  day  an  ofi&cer  entered  and  announced 
to  Madame  Eoland,  that  her  liberty  was  restored. 
Scarcely  believing  her  senses  she  emerged  from  her 
prison,  joyfully  breathed  the  free  air  again  and  ac- 
customed her  eyes  to  the  blinding  light  of  day,  scarcely 
less  be^vilde^ing  than  the  exultation  of  being  free,  of 
Clasping  her  child  to  her  heart  and  claiming  her  own 
home.  Ordering  a  carriage  to  drive  quickly  to  the 
Rue  de  la  Harpe,  it  was  not  long  before  she  alighted  at 
her  own  door,  her  face  beaming  with  the  expected 
happiness  of  hearing  again  the  voice  of  Eudora.  She 
eagerly  bounded  up  the  steps  and  opened  the.  door ; 
her  foot  was  upon  the  threshold — when  two  men  dart 
ed  firom  places  of  concealment,  seized  and  rudely  thmsi 


616  MADAME   ROLAND. 


her  back  into  the  carriage  with  the  assurance  that  the 
Assembly  had  issued  a  new  warrant  for  her  arrest. 
They  bore  her  to  the  prison  of  St.  P^lagi^,  and  con- 
ducted her  to  a  loathsome  dungeon  already  crowded 
with  the  most  abandoned  women,  and  desperate  vil- 
lains, whose  repulsive  aspect  made  her  shudder  and 
shrink  from  the  vile  contact. 

Her  courage  no  longer  supported  her;  the  disap 
pointment  had  been  too  cruel ;  she  sat  down  amids* 
the  miserable  wretches  of  the  dungeon  and  wept  and 
sobbed  with  uncontrollable  sorrow.  But  here,  as  in  the 
other  prison,  she  gained  the  sympathy  of  her  keepers, 
who  soon  ventured  to  remove  her  to  a  narrow  cell  by 
herself  As  before,  her  room  gradually  assumed  an 
unexpected  degree  of  comfort.  Books,  music,  draw- 
ing, and  writing  were  made  available  by  the  kindness 
of  Madame  Bpuchaud,  the  wife  of  the  jailer ;  flowers, 
and  vines  twined  among  and  hid  the  ugly  iron  bars 
across  the  high  window,  and  a  small  table  and  comfort- 
able bed  completed  all  her  wants.  Once  more  she 
gathered  calmness  and  happiness  from  her  employ- 
ments. She  could  utter  with  triumph  what  Marie 
Antoinette  exclaimed  in  despair,  "What  a  resource, 
amid  the  calamities  of  life,  is  a  highly-cultivated 
mind !" 

On  the  same  day  when  the  Girondists  were  executed, 
October  31st.  1793,  Madame  Roland  was  led  to  the 
dungeons  of  the  Conciergerie.  This  frightful  prison 
lay  beneath  the  Palace  of  Justice.  A  wide  flight  of 
stone  steps  led  down  to  the  subterraneous  passages  that 
wound  and  twisted  nnd  intersected  each  other  like 


MADAME    ROLAND.  517 


caged  serpenta,  and  terminated  in  cells,  cold,  dark,  and 
silent  as  the  grave.  The  atmosphere  was  humid  and 
noxious  ;  moisture  oozed  from  the  walls,  and  the  damp 
slippery  floors  made  the  bewildered  captive  recoil  from 
a  footing  that  suggested  a  path  among  sliding  lizarda 
and  creeping  scorpions.  Through  these  dark  laby 
rinths,  the  heroic  Girondists  and  the  hapless  queen  had 
passed  forth  to  a  repulsive,  bloody  death;  ladies  distin- 
guished for  beauty  and  talent,  young  girls  fair  and  in- 
nocent, noble  men  and  their  aged  fathers,  bowed  and 
trembling  under  the  snowy  crown  of  years,  had  gone 
forth  daily  to  appease  the  mad  multitude  thirsting  for 
human  blood.  Still  agonizing  groans  resounded 
through  the  gloomy  corridors,  or  sometimes  echoed 
to  a  wailing  death-song  from  the  breaking  heart  of 
some  despairing  prisoner.  Barely  the  voice  of  prayer 
went  up  from  these  cells  except  wrested  from  some 
frantic  victim.  Those  were  days  of  infidehty ;  God 
had  withdrawn  his  presence  from  the  atheistical  na- 
tion. 

From  one  of  those  cells  came  a  sweet  voice  that  u^ 
tered  eloquent  and  inspiring  words  in  clear,  ringing 
tones,  thrilling  every  listener,  and  kindling  a  new  he- 
roism from  the  ashes  of  despair.  Those  lips  did  not 
beguile  fellow-captives  to  exhausting,  enervating  tears, 
but  aroused  all  the  patriotic  fire,  the  exalted  courage, 
and  the  stoicism  of  which  they  were  capable;  they 
caught  the  unshrinking  lofty  tone  of  the  bold-spirited 
orator,  and  when  she  paced  the  narrow  courts,  gath- 
ered round  her  with  a  love  and  devotion  they  might 
have  paid  to  an  angel.     Fascinating  and  graceful  even 


518  MADAME    ROLAND. 


in  prison  robes,  stately  and  commanding,  yet  womanly 
and  gentle,  the  sturdiest  bowed  before  her,  and  the 
weakest  leaned  upon  the  strength  her  impassioned  soul 
could  impart. 

But  one  day  she  smilingly  glided  past  them,  attired 
in  flowing  white  drapery,  and  her  dark  hair  falling  in 
wavy  abundance  to  her  girdled  waist.  She  hastened 
cheerfully  along  the  winding  passages,  passed  through 
the  massive  entrances,  and  soon  stood  in  the  Hall  of 
the  Palace  of  Justice,  before  an  excited  and  tumultuous 
throng.  In  vain  her  voice  richly  and  eloquently  rose 
above  the  confused  murmurings  boldly  speaking  her 
own  defence — not  in  crouching  supplication — not  in 
fear  of  death — not  in  appeals  to  the  humanity  and  sym- 
pathy of  the  Assembly,  but  in  daring  defiance  of  their 
imputing  a  single  crime  to  her  or  to  those  illustrious 
men  who  had  gone  before  her  to  the  scaffold.  She 
sealed  her  own  doom  while  proudly  asserting  her  inno- 
cence. She  was  condemned  to  die.  Fully  prepared 
for  this  sentence,  she  received  it  with  unchanging  coun- 
tenance, and  returned  to  her  cell  as  cheerfully  as  she 
had  emerged  from  it,  intimating  her  fate  to  the  prison- 
ers, as  she  passed  them,  by  silently  drawing  a  finger 
across  her  white  throat. 

That  night  an  old  harp  that  had  long  lain  untouched 
in  the  solitary  cell,  resounded  with  slow,  mournfal 
tones,  accompanied  by  a  full,  melodious  voice,  sadly 
sweeping  a  wild  requiem  through  the  long  galleries 
that  had  been  silent  to  every  sound  but  human  groans 
or  shouts  of  exultation  or  despair.  The  shuddering 
captives  recognized  the  farewell. 


MADAME    KOLAND.  519 


The  following  morning — the  gloomy  opetnng  of  a 
November  day — a  long  line  of  carts,  crowded  with 
victims  for  the  guillotine,  issued  from  the  yard  of  the 
Donciergerie.  In  the  last  was  the  white-robed  heroine 
of  the  dungeons,  still  calm  and  self-possessed,  still 
bearing  up  the  drooping  spirits  of  those  who  stood 
beside  her.  An  old  man  with  whitened  locks,  weak 
and  trembling,  leaned  upon  her  sustaining  arm.  Her 
own  face  was  brilliant  and  blooming,  freshened  and 
tinged  with  the  cool  morning  air.  The  near  approach 
of  a  sudden  and  horrible  death  was  no  intimidation  to 
her  heroic  spirit.  Nearer  and  nearer  the  rough  ve- 
hicle approached  the  scaffold,  as  those  in  advance 
were  emptied ;  higher  and  more  ghastly  grew  the 
heaps  of  the  slain  ;  faster  and  fuller  rolled  the  crimson 
tide.  At  last  came  the  cart  with  the  old  man  and  the 
beautiful,  fearless  woman.  She  was  still  brave  and  un- 
daunted, he  shrinking  and  pale  with  terror.  "  Go 
first,"  said  she,  "  that  you  may  not  witness  my  death." 
But  the  brutal  executioner  commanded  her  to  ascend 
first.  "  You  will  not  refuse  a  woman's  last  request," 
she  replied  mildly,  and  with  one  of  her  winning  smiles. 
The  murder-inured  man  was  won  like  every  one  else 
upon  whom  that  fascinating  smile  fell.  The  old  man 
with  the  whitened  locks,  bowed  his  head  first  beneath 
the  axe — then  came  the  noble  woman  with  firm,  unfal- 
tering step — she  knelt — an  instant  of  awful  stillness 
was  succeeded  by  the  terrible  sound  of  the  sliding  axe. 
and  the  beautiful  head,  enveloped  in  its  dark  veil  of 
flowing  ringlets,  fell  firom  the  block. 


520  MADAME   ROLAin). 


The  noble,  heroic,  exalted  spirit  of  Madame  Roland 
had  gone  to  the  eternity  she  had  so  often  and  so  darkly 
questioned.  Her  soul  was  in  an  instant  ushered  to  the 
presence  of  an  unacknowledged  God,  before  whose  tri- 
bunal human  philosophy,  and  stoicism,  and  lofty  endu- 
rance must  fanish  into  nothingness. 


^■"-.% 


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Ff^3   B  „MfRLF  DEC  3    1385 


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ivi98498 


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